To Hell and Back in Twenty Four Hours
by Angelinsydney
Summary: A man from Sam's past came in from the cold with evidence of a devastating secret. Sam has 24 hours to recover it. Action packed. My usual offering of mystery, intrigue and unconditional love. Please be warned, this is not your usual SRU/Flashpoint story. Thanks to all fans for reading; 12,000 hits so far! Looking forward to 15,000.
1. Jake

**Jake **

Sam Braddock dragged himself home to his apartment. It's been one hell of a long week-end. Everyone at the Strategic Response Unit had been on stand-by and on high rotation for Canada Day. Public holidays were sadly prone to public disturbance so it was all hands on deck. Luckily, as tiring as it was and demanding, there were no "hot calls"

He entered his apartment with a singular thought. Sleep. Sweet slumber. Two days rostered day-off, just the sort of break he needed to rejuvenate.

He removed his shoes, left them by the door and tossed his socks in the laundry basket. He's a practical man, average people wouldn't have a laundry basket in full view of their living room but he couldn't be arse about aesthetic. It would be more offensive to have dirty socks and undies scattered on the floor, beside it's his domain to do as he pleased. The socks went in, _2 points for Sam Braddock_.

He did the same with the rest of his clothing. He removed his trousers, rolled it up in a bundle and aimed at the basket. Scored again! He raised his arms in triumph. He removed his shirt next; followed by his underwear. They all went in easily for a total of 8 points. The military and the "locker room" environment of the elite police force were conducive to honing a sense of ease towards the naked body. One forgot to be self-conscious about the state of undress.

Sam walked around butt naked. His body was entirely muscular, not an ounce of flab to distract the eye. In fact he'd be perfect specimen to display in front of a class of medical students as all his muscle groups were clearly defined. Not that he'd be interested to be on a show and tell. He would also be an ideal live model for art students, again, not that he'd tempted to expose himself in all his glory though he had an easy relationship with his body. He was proud of it but he didn't unnecessarily flaunt it.

He went to bathroom to turn the shower on. He didn't hang around to wait for the water to ran hot. As the shower rained down, he went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and gulped down milk straight from the bottle. The act of lifting the litre of milk caused his bicep to contract. On the way back to the shower, he grabbed a clean towel from the linen cupboard.

He closed the bathroom door, step inside the cubicle and enjoyed a steamy shower. He scrubbed himself hard, seemingly to erase the dirt of humanity that stuck to him as he patrolled the city. He'd still be scrubbing away had he not ran out of hot water, he stepped out of the shower and rubbed himself dry.

He drew the curtains closed as he crossed the living room all the way to his bedroom. He checked his pager and his cellphone, he noticed the low battery indicator and plugged his phone to charge. That done, he went to bed and drew the quilt up to his chin and was out like a light.

He opened his eyes, suddenly alert to the ambient change in the temperature of the room. It raised the hackle on the back of his neck. Sam rolled out of the bed and pulled a concealed Luger from under the bed base. He stayed hidden on the side of the bed, ready to confront the intruder He was instantly awake, his senses alert. He was sure it wasn't a dream. Dreams don't drop the ambient temperature of a room that much he was sure of.

He listened as the bedroom door opened wider. He heard footsteps that were initially soft and tentative to one that sounded heavier as if the intruder was no longer in control. This was followed by a thud, an unknown body collapsed on his bedroom floor, a moan escaping from his lips.

Sam Braddock came out from behind his bed and aimed the handgun at the intruder's head. He used his foot to turn the body face up. He paused and for a second stared at the body lying in his bedroom, leaking blood on the carpet. He crouched down to have a better look, "Jesus," he said.

Sam pressed down on the strangers stomach to stem the bleeding. "I'm calling for help, mate. Don't move."

The stranger held on tightly to him with all his remaining ounce of strength, in a voice that was hoarse and strained, he whispered, "Don't… no time. Autopsy. Autopsy." He put his hand under his shirt and pulled out his dog tag, "Tell.. Annie… I'm so…. So. Sorry."

"Fuck, Jake, you're not doing this to me." Jake didn't move. "Jake!"

"Stay with me, stay with me." He felt for a pulse. There's a faint one. Sam rushed to his cell phone and called SRU, the fastest way to get emergency services to his door, "EMS, I need EMS."

The computer system flagged his phone number and his address, Win who was on despatch recognised his voice, "Sam, are you ok?" He didn't reply. Sam had both hands pressed down on his friend's abdomen, willing himself to believe it wasn't too late.

It took emergency services less than five minutes to get to his door, "Over here," he shouted, "in the bedroom." Two paramedics burst through the door and were greeted by a first sight of a naked man kneeling over a body, both covered in blood. The Luger lying on the floor didn't escape their notice. They paused, unsure what to do next. It didn't help Sam's mental disposition, "What the fuck you're doing standing there for?"

The paramedics came to their senses and took over from Sam who picked up his gun, causing the paramedics to instinctively raised their hands in panic. "I'm SRU and I didn't shot him. Now can you please attend to him?" he said in veiled sarcasm. He went to shower and scrubbed the blood off his body. Blood wasn't easy to remove. He would still be standing under running water when suddenly it dawned on him what Jake meant by "autopsy."

_Fuck me_, he thought. He grabbed the towel, wrapped it around his waist and got dressed in a hurry, pocketed his cell phone and tucked the Luger in the small of his back. He was almost breathless as he dashed down after the paramedics. They were loading Jake in the ambulance just as he was coming out the main entrance.

Without warning, a shot rang out and took the first of two paramedics. He dived for cover and screamed for the other paramedic to duck. Suddenly, the shooter jumped onboard the ambulance and took off with Jake's body.

Sam looked on helplessly, he looked down at the downed paramedic and called again for help. Every fibre in his body was telling him he had better be ready for hell on earth!


	2. Facta non Verba

**Facta non Verba**

The paramedic attended to the gunshot wound of his partner Sam got on the phone to SRU and requested for an All Points Bulletin for the car-napped ambulance. He knew it would be fruitless, they won't be able to track the vehicle through its GPS, _he'd have disabled it now_. Sam was convinced of that because that's what he would have done. The car-napper was SF, the way he staged the ambush and got that shot was proof enough.

"Winnie, upload all abandoned buildings, warehouses, vacant lots, construction sites within 2Ks of my location to my PDA," he didn't want to sound short but he was pressed for time. He patted himself to check if there was anything he was missing, _wallet and car key_, he climbed back up to his apartment three steps at a time. He went to his bedroom and stopped in his track as he stared at the pool of blood that had slowly spread on the carpet. His PDA beeped; the locations had been uploaded to his PDA, _thanks Win_, he said silently. _I owe you one_.

He unceremoniously grabbed his wallet and his car key. _**This is war**_. It was a thought borne out of experience and training ingrained in his thick skull. His hands shook with emotion.

The JTF2 motto was **Facta non Verba. Deeds, not Words.** He looked at the stain of blood and believed without a shadow of a doubt that Jake Drury died honouring his warrior motto. He lived and died for the cause.

Sam opened his bedside drawer and emptied its contents on the bed. He opened a black box that housed his Suunto, the wrist watch he wore on his war tours of which there had only been two. He mentally rebuked himself, _only two, hell Braddock most people wouldn't go to one._ Still if he had any regrets… if he could turn back time… he'd very much like to still be serving with his Band of Brothers at JTF2. Alas, he was robbed of it, _**Don't go there! **_ his mind screamed.

It was masochistic but he was drawn to the spot where Jake Drury fell. He couldn't help it. The brunette was senior to him by two years. _He could have been anything he wanted._ Intelligent, educated, handsome by anyone's standard but he chose to wear the uniform, the first in his lineage to serve. Now there were at last count two nephews and a niece in the military, _thanks to you, buddy_, as he mentally toasted the fallen man. Jake was the man he wanted to be. They said even heroes had heroes, Lt Drury was his.

He returned to the task at hand. He looked at the time, **2pm**. He mentally calculated how much sleep he had_, six hours_, strangely enough that invigorated him. Six hours was always more than none. _Funny how the mind could always cajole you into positive territory_, he thought to himself.

He patted his battered Suunto and smirked at how many people had been fooled by Hollywood believing SF wore high tech watch specimen like Rolexes and Omegas in the theatre of war. Nothing could be further from the truth. All they ever wore were trusty cheap watches like his 10 year old Suunto or the Baby G- the Brit SAS favoured.

He's reminiscing wasted 15 precious minutes. There was one more thing to do, he went to his wardrobe and removed a panel, inside it was his military canvas bag, Every thing he needed for survival was in it. Rumour has it that ex-SF had hidey holes, well, there was some element of truth in that. He lifted it out of its hiding place and carried it up and over his shoulder.

On his way out, he stepped on something metallic. He missed it on the way in as it was embedded on the carpet covered in blood. His heart skipped a beat, Jake's dog tag. The Lieutenant's last heroic act before he lost consciousness was to pull his identification tag. Sam picked it up by the chain, the only bit not covered in red liquid. The dog tag was wrapped in paper, wrapped in cello tape. Jake had left him a "bread crumb." He wore the dog tag around his neck not at all squeamish of the blood.

He slippery dipped down the handrail on his bum, it was quicker that way. The injured paramedic had been stabilised and was now being carried aboard another ambulance. He called SRU again, as expected there was no signal from the car-napped ambulance. He put on his SF cap, he knew no one worth his salt would drive around in a stolen vehicle, let alone something as big and as noticeable as an ambulance. _He would want to be out of sight as soon as possible._ He checked his PDA and picked the one nearest his location. He tossed his bag in his open-topped jeep and hooned out before he could click-clack himself into the seat.

It was an abandoned warehouse. He stopped at the gate and searched for a binocular from his survival canvas bag. He zipped it up and hid it in the bushes, covering it expertly. If his jeep was car-nap it wouldn't matter he could easily carjack one for himself if it came to that but losing his survival tool would be suicidal.

He felt for the Luger in the small of his back. He didn't bother checking the clip he was sure there were 15 rounds in it, as sure as he was of the air he breathe. He walked stealthily, clinging to the sides as much as possible, glad he was clad in his usual black T and grey-green pants. Habits die hard.

He saw the ambulance from a distance. He brought the bino to his eyes and scanned the surroundings. There was no one around. He gave it another minute; to move hastily would be to get himself killed. He didn't come all this way just to earn a bullet in his forehead.

His Suunto digital watch read **2:40pm**. _I gotta move my ass_. He ducked paddled closer to the vehicle, he was now certain it's been abandoned. But training still prevailed upon him to be wary, he removed the safety of his Luger and speed-walked towards the ambulance, arms out and steady, his finger on the trigger.

He pressed his back again the metal side of the vehicle and listened to sounds of movements, there was none. He opened the door of the ambulance wider and jumped in, Jake's naked body was left half sprawled, half prone inside, whoever took him wanted his clothing for the secret he carried but Sam was sure Jake kept the secret inside him.

"Autopsy" kept ringing in his head. Sam respectfully covered Jake's body and closed the door. He jumped out, looked around to double check he was still alone. He jumped inside the ambulance cabin and hot-wired it, stopped at the gate and moved Jake onto the backseat of his Jeep. He retrieved his survival kit, rummaged for a canvas blanket and covered Lt Drury's lifeless body.

**3:30pm**, he had to find a place to perform an autopsy. He gritted his teeth and fired up the engine of the Jeep.

Welcome to hell!


	3. Truth Comes from the Mouth

**Truth Comes from the Mouth**

He had to think… to plan… but in reality he didn't have the luxury of time. A corpse was sitting on the back of his Jeep, whilst the temperature had dropped it still wasn't ideal. Decay happens quickly once the heart stops beating. Chemical changes occur within the body and result in changes in pH, causing cells to lose their structural integrity. The loss of cell structure causes the release of cellular enzymes initiating the breakdown of surrounding cells and tissues, known as autolysis. Visible changes caused by decomposition are limited during the fresh stage, although autolysis may cause blisters to appear at the surface of the skin.

Since blood is no longer being pumped through the body it drains to the dependent portions of the body, under gravity, creating an overall bluish-purple discolouration termed livor mortis or, more commonly, lividity. Shortly after death, within three to six hours, the muscular tissues become rigid and incapable of relaxing which is known as rigor mortis. From the moment of death, the body begins losing heat to the surrounding environment, resulting in an overall cooling called algor mortis.

Jake was in the fresh stage of decay so the sooner he got him to the appropriate place for autopsy the better. Sam swallowed hard mentally convincing himself to be detach, it was the only way to save his sanity. He once had to assist in the evacuation of injured soldiers after an IED explosion, the smell of death and the sight of splintered bones and open wounds and spilled guts stayed with him for months.

_Fuck it, I've gotta have a plan_, he stopped in a quiet side street and closed his eyes. He slowed his breathing. About five minutes into it, he came to a place of clarity. He opened his eyes and headed east of Yonge Street to the Coroner's Office. He parked his Jeep way out of sight. He inspected himself in the rear view mirror, that's when he noticed that his black T had blood transfer on the shoulder. He searched in his canvas bag for a shirt, and found a white polo shirt_, it would have to do._

He checked that Jake was adequately covered before striding towards the morgue. He walked confidently as if he belonged there. The security officer wasn't at his post, _finally something in my favour for a change_. He didn't linger. He checked every room and got lucky when he chanced upon a doctor's white scrub hanging on a hook, with the ID tag still attached to the pocket, he put it on without hesitation.

He continued his 'rounds' and eventually came to a room where supplies were kept. He helped himself to a body bag and a blue masked. He put on one side of the mask, the other side he left hanging, it would seem to the unsuspecting that he was a coroner getting ready to perform an autopsy. He spied a trolley in the corridor and it pushed it towards the fire exit. Tentatively, he depressed the bar to unlock it, hoping it would not trigger an alarm. It didn't! He looked for something to wedge in the door and found a brick nearby. Using his foot to move it between the door and the door jamb, he accidentally scattered a heap of cigarette butts, _the staff came out here to smoke that explains why the alarm was disabled._

The Jeep was parked out of sight, shielded by tree branches. Nevertheless, he double checked that no one was around. He unfurled and unzipped the body bag, lifted Jake on top of it then zipped it up, thankful that it had gone well.

He was about to push the trolley towards the fire exit when two workers came out to smoke_, shit_, he just had time to pull back and hide behind the Jeep. _Close, too close._ The near miss caused his hand to shake he was definitely starting to feel the pinch of stress. His adrenaline level had levelled down from a high two hours earlier. It brought on a massive headache. He opened his glove box, found a box of over-the-counter pain killer, popped two in his mouth and dry swallowed.

Finally, the two staffers went back inside, he waited two minutes before he came out of the shadow. He pushed the trolley up the ramp and before he knew it he was inside the morgue, now he just had to find a room to perform his first autopsy.

The first room he came to was sterile. He recognised some of the medical equipment from some American procedural television dramas he had seen on occasion; he hoped it wasn't all hogged wash and that the time he spent viewing those silly shows would prove to be instructional.

He moved Jake from the trolley to the slab. His friend lying on the cold slab unmoving, decaying was a nightmare he wished he could wake up from any minute now. He forced himself to view Jake's lifeless body clinically but his own senses contradicted his effort. He heaved. Just the thought that he was about to mutilate his friend's body caused his own body to rebel. His hands started to shake; his knees gave up from under him. _Fuck, Jake. I can't do this._

He squatted to regain his composure, and slowed his breathing. _Inhale_, he counted to eight. _Exhale_, again he counted to eight. He did this five times until his rhythm returned to normal.

He surveyed the room, opened all the cupboard to see what he might need for the 'operation', the change in terminology helped him mentally. _This is an operation, not an autopsy_, he repeated inwardly like a mantra. He found a head gear with a clear plastic visor, he put it on to shield his face.

_Ok, here we go!_ Breathing in, he gripped the handle of a scalpel. His hand poised ready to cut Jake when a woman's voice called out, "Dr George? Are you Dr George?"

He didn't answer his mind was singularly focused on the operation. A hand nudged him slightly on the shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin, "Are you Dr George?"

He slowly turned around, a plumpish woman of about 25, brunette with delicate facial features was standing about a foot from him. "Dr George, I'm Jane Escobar, I'm your new assistant. I'm so sorry I'm late."

_Assistant?_ Sam smiled and acknowledged her, "Hi Jane, would you like to change and find another one of this protective head gear." The pretty Hispanic trainee was delighted, "Thank you, Dr. Thank you for not being upset with me. Everyone said that you're the best. That I'm lucky to be learning from the best," she was going on and on in nervous chatter.

Sam put a finger up, she got the drift, "Sorry, Dr, I'm just very nervous. What would you like me to do? How can I assist?"

Sam smiled, "Look at the body, tell me, what's your preliminary assumption… take your time." Jane surveyed Jake, she paid attention to the eyes, the neck, the chest region, the gunshot wound, the pelvic area, and the legs.

She turned Jake on his side and saw the bullet's exit wound, "My preliminary guess would be exsanguination. The bullet was a through and through in the stomach region, which generally isn't fatal if the victim had immediate assistance. I've seen cases where bullets fragment inside the body, oh man, I tell you, it's not the way I'd wanna go." Sam raised a finger again. She stopped chattering.

Sam concurred with her initial assessment. Jakes was alive when the paramedics arrived. He would have made it to the hospital in time for a transfusion and with speedy trauma specialist care, he would have made out of the hospital on his own two feet. Jake was essentially murdered.

"Ok… now…," Sam said in an authoritative, assured level voice, "Let's pretend for the sake of this training that this man here had a secret hidden inside his body, what would you do to find it?"

Jane surveyed the body carefully again and said, "I would assume that he swallowed it. That's what most people do these days."

"So you think you would do a dissection and remove the contents of his stomach?"

"Yes, both the lower and upper intestine and the bowel because we really don't know when he might have swallowed this hypothetical thing, right?

"Ok, but before you do that don't you think it would be smart to check his.." Sam checked himself in time, he nearly said 'ass' which would not have been appropriate for a doctor to say, "rectum?"

Jane looked embarrassed, "Of course, Dr George because once I cut him we wouldn't be able to turn him around without spil…." She didn't care to finish the sentence.

Sam turned Jake on to his side, Jane reached for the endoscope, a medical instrument used to look inside the oesophagus, stomach, upper intestines, bile duct, larynx, trachea, bronchi - through the mouth; anal canal, rectum, colon- through anus. After a couple of minutes she said there was nothing in Jake's anal canal.

They laid Jake back on his back, Sam nodded for Jane to commence the dissection. "Be my guest, you're the one in training here." He thanked God for the plastic visor, as Jane cut into Jake's chest to open him up, he cried silently. He willed himself to be dissociative, to harden up, to man up. But the emotion was just too raw. He turned away and pretended to busy himself with other things, he combed Jake's hair and collected samples of dirt and dust and other soil matter from his friend's. He saw this done in a show once, and hoped he looked legitimate.

"Uh, oh," he heard Jane say as she paused, visibly shaken. "What is it?"

"It appears from the skin and the flesh around the bullet wound, a knife was stuck in and twisted. Oh my God, this man was tortured." Sam didn't think it was possible to get angrier but right now there was not a word in the dictionary to describe what he was feeling. He felt murderous. Insanely murderous.

He was deathly silent, his eyes zeroed in on the flesh wound and saw for himself its jagged, shredded appearance. "Jane, please take note of that findings, you're doing a great job," he heard himself say. His heart was thumping so hard it felt was if his chest cavity was going to explode. He breathe through his mouth, it helped steady him.

When he was done with the hair, he checked inside Jake's mouth, he lifted the tongue and there it was! A microchip. Jake hid it in under his tongue and held it there as he was tortured to death. Sam glanced back to see Jane still engrossed with Jake's bodily organs; he discreetly put the microchip in a small plastic evidence bag and pocketed it.

A side-ways glance revealed a black light on the bench as if inviting him to use it. "Jane, I'm sorry to interrupt, please switch off the lights for me?" If she was surprised by the request she didn't show it, she did as she was told. Sam switched on the black light and moved it slowly across Jake's body, inspecting every crook and cranny of the epidermis. There! Glowing under a black light was an invisible writing in phosphor; a substance that emits visible light in response to some sort of radiation; on Jake's inner thigh. "What the hell is that?" Jane whispered.

Sam recognised the string of numbers as longitude and latitude, at a guess it's an address somewhere in Toronto City district. He memorised the numbers. "Jane, turn on the lights and let's finish here."

She concentrated on emptying the contents of Jake's stomach in a dish, as far as she was concerned she was still looking for a 'secret'. Sam quietly removed the protective head gear and silently tip-toed out of the room, from Jake's mouth the truth came out, that was all he needed.

Next thing she knew, an older gentleman, bespectacled and greying was confronting her, "Who the hell are you?" he bellowed. Jane turned around in shocked and replied, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I beg your pardon, I'm Dr George and this is my autopsy room!" was the angry retort.

"Oh my God," she said frantically looking around, "Who was he… on my God!"

By the time Jane Escobar got her story straight, Sam was far, far away.


	4. Urban Jungle

**Urban Jungle**

Sam drove off from the Coroner's car park to make distance. He was conscious that an All Points Bulletin had been issued for his Jeep, it didn't take a genius to figure that one out. He was certain every cop in the City was looking for a green grey open-topped Jeep; to remain with the vehicle was to be utterly, utterly stupid. _That's it_, an idea formed in his sharp-shooter's brain, park the Jeep where it wouldn't attract attention.

His ever reliable Suunto digital said **8pm.** The autopsy took longer than he had time for but at least the procedure enlightened him about Jake's final moment. He decided to chance it; night was always a good time to travel. He took the road to the international airport and parked his Jeep in the long-term parking area where no one would take any notice of it. He paid for a week's parking just in case.

He sat in the Jeep feeling famished and dogged tired. He put his JTF2 cap back on and thought about everything he knew of urban warfare_. I'm running away from someone armed and dangerous. I need to leave a trace, where would I dump it if I want a friend to follow my trail._

He imagined himself as Jake. _I'm staggering with a gunshot wound… bleeding heavily. I need to call someone so I pull my phone out of my pocket. I get to the block of flats, but I've got to stagger up the stairs. I'm short of time and my pursuer is on my tail. I have a phone but no time. There, a Jeep - it looks like something Braddock would drive. It's the only vehicle not parked inside a garage. It sits on a car space where he could drive off in a hurry. It had to be Sam's. It had to be. I'll leave my phone here._

Braddock, on a hunch, dialled Jake's number. A phone rang, it's under his seat. _You beauty!_ He got out, lifted the seat up and there was Jake's link to him from the grave_. Bro, you're amazing!_

He lifted his military canvas bag. He stared at the Jeep hoping he'd be reunited with it. But there's always a chance he won't. He took it with a grain of salt, as former SF, he couldn't afford to hold on to things tightly. At a moment's notice, it could all disappear. His sort would never have the chance to live the life of a boy next door. If one thought he could live his past behind, he was deluded. There were men who lived _this_ life before him and he'd seen what it did to them. He won't be the last either.

His own phone rang_, Jules_ it said. News had gotten around and now that he'd gone dark everyone was frantic. He turned off his phone, removed the SIM card. He couldn't afford any distractions right now. No frantic phone calls for him. No "I'm worried about you." No "Please call me." Right now, there was something urgent he needed to attend to, to the exclusion of everyone and anything else. If he wanted to live past his prime, he had to stay paranoid, unreachable, detached.

He stayed close to the wall, and walked down the car park with his bag slung over his shoulder. He made a mental list of what he had to do. Food, hunger didn't keep anyone alive in the theatre of war be it in the jungle, the desert, or urban. He kept walking til he got to the main road and flagged down a cab. He made sure he stayed out of camera range; some of the newer taxis had seeing and recording eyes installed in them, he didn't want to be pinged.

He asked to be dropped 200 metres from at a MacDonald Restaurant, no cameras there. He removed a baseball cap from his bag put it on to cover half his face. He warily walked close to the wall, it reeked of urine. He smelt much, much worse so it didn't do anything to his constitution.

He ordered two large value meals. That was one thing they ingrained in your thick skull at SF training. Eat when you can, you don't know when or where your next meal would come from. He took a seat away from the crowd of Moms and Dads and kids. He ate his first value meal, and watched the children play happily in the play area. He envied their innocence.

He took the dog tag out and removed the cello tape, careful not to rip the paper to shreds. It took him a good 15 minutes but he did a superb job of it. He spread out the paper, it was a schematic of the entire fifth floor of a 10-storey building in the City. Sam Braddock was sure he knew where it was. He took out his smart phone and typed in the longitude and latitude written on phosphor on the inside of Jake's thigh. _And, how about that Mr Smarty Pants? I salute you Lt Jake Drury_. He ate his second value meal.

It wasn't too far from where he was to the building of his destination. But first he had to know what was so important in the microchip that was worth dying for. He didn't want to involve anyone else but this sort of thing was always heavily encrypted and the only person he knew who could deal with it and had the sort of high tech, high end computer was Spike Scarlatti.

He dialled his number using his heavily encrypted cell phone, one issued by JTF2 to its members serving or not, as long as they were breathing they got to keep one. Spike's phone rang crazily, _private number_, he picked it up and said, "You better not be selling me anything or I will find you and make your life miserable."

"Spike," it was Sam.

"Where are you?"

"I need your help."

"I bet you do, the whole City is on the look-out for you. MOD has been asking around."

"I bet they are. You can shake a tail, right?"

"Can I shake a tail? You're joking right? The question should be can they get their car started to follow me."

Sam laughed. "Meet me here at midnight," he gave Spike the coordinates. "See you in half an hour."

**Midnight**, Spike and Sam met up in a discreet location in the financial district of Toronto. "Spike, someone killed my friend for this." He gave it to the Techie, "And you want me to find out what's in it that's worth killing for."

"Or, dying for," said Sam grimly.

Spike put it in his pocket, "How would you like to know? By email? Text? Call? I haven't perfected telepathy yet," he said jokingly to lighten the sombre mood.

"I'll call you. Are you sure you weren't followed?"

Spike dug inside his pocket and gave Sam a sparkplug. "Some things don't work without it," he said with a smirk.

"How did you manage that?" asked Sam, then waved his hand and added, "Never mind."

"Be careful, bro. I trust you not to get dead ok?"

"Yeah, I'll call you, hope it doesn't take long to crack that."

Spike made a face and gave Sam a hug and a thump on his back. "Anytime buddy. I've got your back."

Little did he know Sam needed more than someone on his back! Braddock was about to enter the devil's domain.


	5. Q & A

_Author's Note: The encrypted JTF2-issued phone first appeared in the story "Beyond this Place of Blood and Tears" specifically in the chapter titled, Revenge. I'm not certain whether Canada's Department of Defense issues such phone to its SF but my research indicate most first world countries do, so I took the creative licence to assume Canada does the same for its commandos. It simply made good sense. _

_The bracelet tracking device first appeared in the story "Hell Hath No Fury" and then again in "Hope." _

_For your enjoyment, please read the one-shot narrative "Apartment 7, Spike's Own" to have an understanding of Spike's living situation if you haven't already. Apartment 8, where Spike and Win live together first came into being in the story, "Three Men, Little Alvin and a Tonka Truck."_

**Q & A**

Sam watched Spike's back recede into the night before he went the other way and disappeared behind thick bushes. He had created a shelter for himself. The size of his military canvas bag belied the fact that it contained a rolled up sleeping bag and a camo net. He was going to sleep rough. It didn't take a degree in counter-terrorism to know that cops had been dispatched to every lodging houses, backpackers, motels, hotels and bed & breakfast in search of him – in the off chance of course that he had gone soft. JTF2 Command though knew he wouldn't be in the usual places. He could be anywhere, unfortunately, in a city the size of Toronto, they would be looking for a needle in a haystack.

Braddock knew he hadn't done anything wrong, and could easily prove it but once he was in custody he had to surrender everything he knew, _not until hell freezes over_. Not until he got to the bottom of what got his friend killed. He dug in and got comfortable. He'd fall asleep, eventually. That's another thing commandos were trained to do, don't worry about tomorrow. Sleep and you'd give yourself a fighting chance to survive another day.

But first he had to do one thing to earn a blissful slumber. He took out his encrypted cell phone. An innocuous-looking device, no self-respecting teenager would want to be seen with one. It was plain. Its appearance disguised the importance of what it held in its memory bank. Every commando got to keep one, it helped them stay connected even after they had been taken out to pasture. Sam was certain it wasn't because of the kindness of Her Majesty's Government they got to have one. He was sure it was driven by more self-serving reason; it was a way to raise them from the dead in cause the unthinkable happened. One group text message and commandos would heed the call, crawling out of every rock.

He turned it on and made one very quick call, not long enough to be pinged by the person on the other end who was a highly trained communications operative, "Yes," she answered without preamble. Braddock followed the Geneva Convention protocol, he really couldn't be arse to say much more, he stated his full name and serial number. The computer flagged him instantly.

"Listen, he said, "Don't bother pinging my location I'm not staying long enough to chat. Let Jane Escobar go, she has nothing to do with me." He hanged up. He was certain she'd be under interrogation and by now frightened half to death with threats of rendition or some such Hollywood stuff. The problem with the military was, as in any organisations, low level threats were 'interviewed' by low level intelligence officers with chips on their shoulder, trying to prove they could do the job and so as a result unnecessarily rough.

When Dr George scanned Lt Jake Drury's fingerprints in the system at **8pm**, it flagged it at a facility in Dwyer Hill Road in Ottawa. Within minutes, Intelligence officer were at the Coroner's Office to sequester the former Commando's lifeless body. Dr George and Jane Escobar were requested to stay for an interview, a euphemism for involuntary detention.

The interview went round and round "tell me again," the interviewer asked Jane Escobar, trying to trip her into admitting complicity with Sam Braddock. Jane Escobar to her credit stuck to her story although she was in all honesty shaking in her boots.

"No, I didn't see his face. He was wearing the **freaking **protective headgear." She said in an exasperated effort to answer the same question she'd been asked a hundred times. She resisted the urge to smack the table knowing her Latina temper was not going to get her any points.

"No, he didn't tell me he was Dr George. I just assumed he was."

"No, I didn't know him before tonight."

"What do you want me to say? He asked me to help with the autopsy, that's all."

The interrogators took turns, "What did he say?" "What did he do?" "Where did he go?" It started at 8:30pm and Lord knows it's now 15 past midnight. She rested her head on the table, with her folded arms to cushion her forehead. _All I ever wanted was to become a forensic pathologist, I didn't bargain for this._ She was downright desperate.

A well-dressed senior intelligence appeared, "Let them go."

The minor players were about to protest when a dagger look put them in their place, Jane Escobar was escorted out of the premises; she left in a hurry without a backward glance in case someone changed their mind. The old man who had served the City of Toronto for much of his adult life, advanced his retirement by five weeks. "Here, I bloody resign," Dr George gave them a scribbled resignation letter, disgusted at the treatment he received.

The senior intelligence officer stared down the two minor operatives and said with venom, "If after three hours of repeated questioning you still hadn't determined those two were innocent you're in the wrong business. That woman stood no chance. Braddock was a former Commando for crying out loud, he was trained by the best to think on his feet. He wanted her to think he was Dr George and he acted like he belonged in the autopsy lab. What did you expect her to do? Ask for proof of ID? Go home." The two left with their tail between their legs and the senior intelligence officer gave a chair a good kicking.

Greg Parker was at home, relaxing with Dean and Marina when visitors knocked on his door, he checked the time** 8:30pm**, _this can't be good,_ "Gentlemen, what can I do for you?" he asked the two uniformed men who stood ramrod straight at his front door.

"May we come in?" one asked.

"Sure, can I offer you something?" he asked more out of courtesy than hospitality. Both declined and said they'd rather get down to business. Greg invited them into his study. After introductions were made, the senior of the two intelligence officers asked what he knew of the shooting incidence at Sam Braddock's apartment.

"We don't investigate ourselves. We follow protocol. First Officer Sam Braddock wasn't injured, he wasn't shot, that's all my concern. The rest of it is for the RCMP Homicide division to investigate. I've been in touched with RCMP and so far they're not saying anything"

"Has Braddock been in touch with you?"

Parker reclined to make himself comfortable, "No. I tried calling but he wasn't answering."

"Aren't you worried something might have happened to him?"

"He's a big boy. He can look after himself. If there's a cop down anywhere in this City, we would know and we would be there before you can say 'boo'."

"You don't seem at all surprised that he's gone to ground?"

"Are you?" The intelligence officer smiled, he knew instantly he had met his match.

"I'd level with you, Sargent Parker. When you hear from Braddock advise him to come in. The man who was found shot in his apartment is a Commando, Sam used to be in his Unit. His body was stolen and found in the morgue, unauthorised autopsy was performed. We want to speak to him."

Greg Parker nodded to show his acquiescence, but he had to clear up something, "Did Sam steal the ambulance?"

"No."

"Was it Sam who performed the unauthorised autopsy?"

"We don't know, the person who assisted in the autopsy didn't have a good look at the man who claimed to the pathologist." Parker took mental note of the answers.

"If that's all… ," Parker said, getting up from his recliner his subtle way of ending the interview.

Parker stayed up in his study wondering what Sam might have gotten himself into. He glanced at the wall clock, midnight. He decided to go to bed, and prayed for Sam Braddock to be safe, _wherever he is._

First Officer Jules Callaghan arrived home from grocery shopping to find two uniformed military officers on her doorstep. She heard from Winnie who was on duty this afternoon that a man was found shot in Sam's apartment, throughout the series of events that followed, the despatcher kept her in the loop. She knew a paramedic was shot, she knew someone took off with the ambulance. She knew Sam was ok and unharmed. She tried phoning him but the cell phone rang out. She went to his place, he wasn't there and neither was his Jeep.

She didn't worry however, Sam's a big boy but the sight of two uniformed military men caused her heart to do a double somersault. _Had something happened to Sam?_ She paused, her groceries in her arm, "Who are you guys?"

The men introduced themselves and offered to help. She wasn't the sort to be ungrateful, she handed the bag of groceries to the officer to free her hands to open the door. They went inside. She looked at the time, **8:30pm.**

"So, what's this about?"

The senior of the two officers asked her about the afternoon's incidence, she told him what she knew without emotion or embellishment. She needed to control the conversation because it had the potential to go haywire.

"You're involved with him?" he asked casually, he already knew the answer but he wanted to hear it from her.

"Yes," it was a straight-forward answer, and she didn't elaborate.

"What do you know of Braddock's past?"

"Nothing he didn't want me to know. I don't ask, if he wants to tell me, he'd tell me."

"Do you know what he might have been up to?"

"He wasn't up-to anything. And if he was, he didn't feel free to include me."

"Aren't you concern about that? The secrecy? The life he lived separate from you?"

Jules sighed, "Did you go to war? Or did you just sit in your armchair all day?" If the officer was offended he didn't show it, Jules didn't apologise for her outburst, _he had it coming_. She carried on talking, her anger at bay, "If you know anything about soldiers who had been to war like he had, you know they don't talk about it. As much as we are committed to each other, there will be a part of him I wouldn't know about. A part he'd rather keep to himself. Until he lets me in, there's no way I would force myself in. Isn't that why he was a Commando? Because he could compartmentalise. Because he was good at keeping secrets."

The Officers nodded, fair enough, they'd seen it all too often. Combatants come back from war survive on their ability to close off part of themselves, sealing the demons in and living life like there was nothing going on.

Jules has had enough, "If there's nothing else…. I've had a long day." The officers left but not before telling her to tell Sam Braddock to turn himself in should he call. "Like he's going to listen to me" she said with a smirk.

When they left, she tried to phone him again, this time it disconnected. She tried again, this time the phone service said, "it can't be reached." _He had removed the SIM card_.

Jules sat up the rest of the night with a flute of white wine in her hand. She wondered how Sam was doing and hoped that he's ok _wherever he is_. She went to bed close to midnight. Staying awake worrying wouldn't do anyone any good.

Ed Lane was putting Izzy to bed when Sophie came into the room, "I'll do it. There's two people downstairs who want to talk to you." Ed looked at the time, **8:30pm**, _who'd be insane to come visiting at this time?_

He was surprised to see two uniformed military officers in his living room, as far as he was aware it's a matter for RCMP Homicide to make sense of it, all they worried about was Sam's well-being. He knew for certain Sam was unharmed.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?"

Ed Lane was asked the same questions and he answered them exactly as Greg Parker did. As a Team, they had nothing to hide, and had nothing to worry about. If Sam Braddock was in danger, he'd find a way to let them know. And, as far as SRU was concerned, Sam was enjoying a two-day rostered, well-deserved day off.

Sophie and Ed cuddled in the living room couch enjoying a half bottle of Chablis waiting for their first born to come home from a party. Clark arrived home a few minutes past midnight, they all went to bed thankful that the day was over and a new day loomed ahead. Ed stared at the ceiling for a bit longer wondering what Sam was up to, wherever he may be, he was sure, Sam Braddock was just fine. _And, if he wasn't_? _He'd be wise enough to call. _Ed checked his phone to make sure it was charged and the ringtone wasn't on silent. They've got his back!

**8:30pm**, Raf and Spike and Leah had their own visitors. They all said they knew nothing, saw nothing, and heard nothing more after an unknown assailant shot a paramedic and took off with the ambulance with a body inside.

"I didn't know it was a soldier in the ambulance until you told me. Did you know he was a soldier?" Spike countered. The officers admitted they didn't until the fingerprint was scanned at the forensic lab that in turn alerted the Dwyer Hill facility.

"Now, I have a question for you," said the SRU Tech, "Why are you looking for Braddock? Shouldn't you be using your resources and personnel to look for the shooter?"

"We can't do that until Sam Braddock comes forward, he's the witness. Without him, we wouldn't know where to begin looking."

"So what's with RCMP Homicide, why don't you ask them?"

"This is no longer an RCMP matter… we are taking over the investigation."

"Please keep us informed. Sam's one of us." One of the intelligence officer said in no uncertain term, "He was a Commando, he would always be one of our own."

It sounded ominous to Spike so he didn't say another word. He had a feeling there was more going on than it seemed. He discreetly messaged Win to call him on his cell phone. Five seconds later, his phone rang, "I've got to take this," he said.

He pretended to listen and then said, "Ok, coming right down."

"A friend brought something… I'll just go get it quickly. Give me a minute, I'll be right back."

He rushed downstairs and looked for a military vehicle, he wasn't disappointed, the vehicle screamed, "It's me, it's me you're looking for." He lifted the bonnet and pulled the sparkplug. He went to Apartment 7 grabbed a book before going back to Apartment 8. "Finally, got my book back," he said.

The officers asked him one final question before they called it a night, "Have you heard from Sam Braddock since the incident this afternoon?" Spike's raised an eyebrow, it was the same question just posed in a different way. "Nope…. if there's nothing else, if you don't mind, I've had a long week…"

The intelligence officers left unconvinced and parked their asses outside. It didn't take a genius to know these guys would be on stag. _You're welcome to freeze your ass off_, Spike thought himself. Win came out of the room, "Should we be worried for Sam?" she asked.

Spike smiled, "Nuh, it would take more than a bullet to stop him, if he's gone to ground it means he's after someone. All we can do is stay by the phone and wait it out." He gave her a hug and sent her to bed, "I'll be there soon."

Instead, Spike went to Apartment 7 to check his CSIS computer for anything classified. There was nothing, _that can only be good_. At **11:30pm**, a call from a private number came through it was Sam with a request for assistance. He took out a tracking device designed to look like a bracelet from his hidden cupboard, cut it and took out the microchip. Sam wouldn't wear a bracelet if his life depended on it_. I have to slip it in his pocket_.

Spike rapelled out of Apartment 7's bathroom window to make the meet with Sam. The meeting was brief as Spike hugged his friend to say, "I've got your back," he really, truly meant it. He slipped the tracking device in Sam's pocket.


	6. Annie

**Annie**

Sam snuggled into his sleeping bag, his head warmed by a woollen beanie. The camouflage netting, covered in leaves, created a cocoon like setting, trapping heat and protecting him from the elements. He set this Suunto digital for 4am, the time he planned to make entry into the building. He wouldn't worry about the details for now, what was important was to rest and sleep. There would be time enough to do what had to be done. He switched off his mental faculties with steady breathing , suspending his thought processes, it took just 10 minutes then it was lights out for Braddock.

The military escorts arrived at the morgue at 8:30pm. Two very well presented privates stood sentinel outside the lab whilst arrangements were made to transport Lt Jake Drury back to Dwyer Hill in Ottawa, anything less would not have been appropriate. Certain protocols needed to be followed, and his nearest of Kin had to be informed.

It was the dead of night, the doorbell rang and she knew instantly. She got out of bed, felt for her slippers with her foot. She gathered her robe around her and prayed for strength. The walk from the bedroom to the door took ages as she placed one heavy footstep in front of the other. It seemed the darkness wanted to swallow and crushed her but in the end she reached the door. She opened it, and was aware of hearing it creaked at the hinges. Two uniformed officers stood side by side, their faces unreadable but sombre. It was their eyes; not their faces, nor their mouths; that spoke to her. She always thought she'd be prepared for this moment, but now she realised nothing could prepare her for the overwhelming lost. It felt as if someone ripped her heart out and stomped on it. The crushing weight of despondency swept over her like gale force wind.

"I'm sorry Mrs Drury," said the young uniformed man who had the unfortunate task of delivering the devastating news. He didn't know what to do except to show a calm exterior while his innards twisted in a knot and his brain screamed, "fuck, fuck, fuck." His uniform didn't permit him to cry or to show emotion. He stood ramrod straight side by side with his buddy and swallowed the empathy that welled up inside him.

Little Jonathan Drury was sleeping in his bed modelled after a tank, his Dad made it for him during one of his furloughs when he was four. Annie Kelly Drury muffled her cries of grief and steadied herself, "Come in," she said.

She led them in, invited them to be seated. "Would you like tea?" They declined, embarrassed to make themselves a burden in her moment of grief. She forced a smile, "I'm having one you might as well join me. I'll be right back." She went to the kitchen and prepared tea for three. Her eyes fixed on the window. It was a moonless night and the darkness seemed to be all there was. "Why now?" her question answered by the cries of a bird.

She carried the tray and served the men. She wrapped her hands around the warm mug, sipped her tea slowly lost in mental abyss. She fought to regain her emotional equilibrium, posed a question to them, "Do you need me to identify his body?"

They said yes she would need to come with them, "Your husband's remain is being transferred to Ottawa, we'll drive you there."

"I'll arrange care for Jonathan, come back tomorrow at 9am."

"Yes ma'am," they said and thanked her for the tea. She walked them to the door and stayed outside in the cold. A thought crossed her mind, "Will I ever know warmth again?" Annie moved back inside when the cold started to bite into her bones. A picture of Jake stared back at her with his emerald eyes that appeared to fade into a sea of grey. She reached for the framed photo that took pride of place on the mantel of the fireplace and clutched it close to her chest.

She was a nurse at the Veteran's Hospital where Lt Drury was transferred for rehab after four life-saving surgeries in Germany. He wasn't the easiest of patients to manage, always did what he was told not to do. She once found him hooning in the corridor in his wheelchair in an attempt to win a bet that he could beat the hospital record in wheelchair racing while both legs were in fiberglass castings. She removed his "privileges" in a fit of anger, but confining him to bed was really asking for trouble. Lt Drury became morose, sullen, impossible and critical of everything and everyone, she being the object of his wrath.

The battle of the will went on for days until finally she roused on him, "Do you want to die? Do you want to kill yourself? Well, spare us, will you? Get a gun and top yourself just not here, I don't want to have to mop up the mess."

He looked at her and said, "Who said I want to die? I'm do what I do to feel alive." She couldn't believe her ears. "You know what," she said, "You're the biggest ADHD case I've ever come across." He smiled at her and she noticed the eyes, the green pool of his iris that almost faded into grey. She couldn't quite describe it. She smiled back and to her surprised he reached for her hand and kissed it. From then on, he followed her during her rounds in his wheelchair until he was strong enough to walk on crutches.

"I'm bored," he said to her one day, "Walk with me when you're finished." She didn't tell him she lived 45 minute drive from the hospital, that after she walked with him in the hospital grounds it would be 8pm by the time she got home. "Ok," she said, "wait for me at the lobby, I finish at 6."

She didn't know why she agreed to it, he wasn't the first soldier who fell for her and who asked to take her out. Falling for a soldier was something she avoided in the five years she worked in the Veteran's Hospital. "It'd be asking for trouble," she used to tell her friends.

The gentle walks took them down the path of intense love. They spoke of wishes and dreams and hopes and plans. Before she knew it they were married. Jonathan was conceived at the time Jake was home to recuperate from shrapnel wound that took out a chunk of his bicep. He joked, rather morbidly, that good things happen to him when he gets shot.

She reclined in the couch and waited for dawn, the darkness kept her company in her sorrow. She placed a hand on her stomach and felt a kick. She grieved for the little one who would never know the hero father who gave her life. He insisted on knowing if they were having a son or a daughter. She could still feel his ecstasy when they were told they were expecting a girl. "See, I'm always lucky after I've had a brush with death," their baby was conceived when he was sent home to recover from burns. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she traced the face in the photo with her fingertips, _You danced with death far too often…. you should have taken us with you._

She fell asleep curled up in the couch with her memories.

Sam slept like a baby but woke up with a start_, Did I miss anything_? He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as if in meditation. The silence helped to clear his mind. _The microchip was in his mouth, why didn't he just give it to me? Why did he ask to be autopsied? Did I miss anything?_ He tried to recall what Jake was like as he laid dying on his bedroom floor. _Did he have something in his mouth? _ No, he was certain there wasn't. He was that close to him as he pressed down on his stomach wound_. _The only explanation that made sense to him was Jake regurgitated it as he was being tortured and he held on to it with his tongue.

He looked at the time, 3:30am, no point going back to sleep.

Spike climbed back up to the second floor window of Apartment 7, it was nearly 1am, he didn't see the point of going to bed while a great friend was camped in a hell hole. He shifted his head in gear and turned on his computer, he would get cracking hopefully he'd have the answer before dawn. To his surprise the microchip wasn't encrypted, all it had were three user names and passwords. _ For what? _He searched for an embedded message_. There it is_, inside the picture of a little boy with brown-hair, emerald eyes and a happy smile. He zoomed in, magnified it and found the sites for three separate Cybercloud accounts.

Cloud computing is a technology that refers to any process, method or activity that involves the "cloud" as a metaphor. Imagine storing files in it, and being able to access it anytime and anywhere as long as there is internet connection. Cloud-hosted accounts and websites operate on multiple connected servers, instead of being limited to a single server like traditional hosting services (dedicated/VPS hosting).

Lt Jake Drury gave Sam the usernames and passwords to his Cybercloud accounts. Spike cracked into the first and read the files, it was 4am by the time he finished perusing all three accounts. He felt chills ran up and down his spine, Jake was dead and now Braddock could be next, he couldn't let that happen. He had no way to reach Sam. The blonde-haired SRU disabled his personal phone and only operated by his encrypted SF phone, the Techie heard himself say, _**Sam call me, NOW!**_

In the meantime, Lt Jake Drury's corpse had been refrigerated in Dwyer Hill awaiting identification. A military pathologist was coming to do a second autopsy later in the day. At any rate, the initial autopsy report was left in the inbox for the military pathologist to refer to, signed by Jane Escobar and witnessed by Dr George. It was all there, Jane wrote down every detail except one. She didn't have the chance to write the detail down before it was unceremoniously taken away from them.

That one singular omission would give Sam a fighting chance. That, and the fact Spike decided to go to him with his discovery. _There was far too much at stake. _


	7. The Dark and Ugly Truth

**The Dark and Ugly Truth **

Braddock was wide wake earlier than he planned but he wasn't one to moan about it, his brain kicked in with its usual pick-me-up_, 'three hours of sleep is better than none'._ He smiled to himself, '_Yeah, tell that to the marines'_. He wiggled himself of the bag, and poked his head out of the camo net, '_Bloody hell, it's darn cold'_. Nevertheless it's easy peasy. JTF2 excel in cold weather action, they trained in the Canadian arctic and mountain.

He quickly tucked his head back inside his cocoon and decided intelligence was what he needed but at 3:45am he reckoned it was too unholy to ring Spike for information. '_Ah, what the hell'_, he felt for his phone but caught hold of Jake's instead. He stared at it, and put on his thinking cap, _'If I was leaving someone a message where would I put it?'_ He selected Notes, empty. Calendar? Nope. Audio recording? None. List of contacts? Nothing out of the ordinary. There were only five people listed, he was one of them. Video? He hit the mark.

He played it. The recording wasn't the best quality, as it was clearly filmed by stealth, but good enough to see what was going down between two men though the sound wasn't all that clear. He caught some of the words to understand why one of them would want Jake dead. He recognised William Exxon, they used to be in the same JTF2 Unit led by Lt Jake Drury. Back in the day, he was a Warrant Officer.

Exxon was dressed to the nines, 'w_ouldn't surprise me if he was wearing designer label rags. He always had expensive taste in everything'._ He heard the words "aids drugs", "delivery", "$5 million", "Swiss account", "not a problem". He needed more than just vague references to an illegal sale of aids drugs. '_Right, ready_ _or not'_, he called Spike. The SRU Techie was about to slide down the rope again when his cell phone rang, '_Bloody about time, Braddock'._

"Did you get anything?"

"Good morning to you, too," replied Scarlatti. Braddock laughed.

"Sam, get out of there, or you'll be next," he said matter-of-factly. All he received was the sound of silence on the other end, "Buddy, we can deal with this as a Team, hear me?"

"Spike, I'm** taking** the war to them. If I run to mother, I'm really dead. Tell me what you know." Sam sounded grim, determined. Spike pictured his friend's tight lip and firm jaw, he decided now wasn't the time to play Angel's advocate, '_Well, I better get out of the way then but I'm tugging along behind you, like it or not.'_

"Here's the short version… it's about a private military contractor, Canada Specialist Inc, or CSI. The directors are all former JTF2 commandos, a retired General and a high ranking ministerial aide. They got several contracts – anything and everything - from delivering cash; Buddy, we're talking crates and crates of freshly-printed green bucks to warlords and rogue countries; to distributing aids drugs to Africa; protecting aid workers; clandestine delivery of firearms inside enemy lines. Stuff our Government, allies, Nato wouldn't touch or be seen to do." Spike stopped to catch his breath.

"Go on?" Sam encouraged, his gut told him he already knew the other half of the story.

"Jake is retiring soon, he's two months away from hanging up his JTF cap. 40 ya know."

"Spike, I know, 40… out to pasture.. get on with it, I haven't got much time."

"Ok, they invited Jake to try-out their firm so the Lieutenant went to try it out instead he stumbled into huge corruption within the company. He documented evidence that half the aids drugs that's meant to go to the poorest of the poor in Africa was being redirected to American and Canadian conduits, and sold for millions. Some of the firearms meant to go to our allies behind enemy lines being sold in the black market. It goes on and on. He hid the evidence and documents in three different Cybercloud accounts. You were meant to access it on his death, and now he's dead."

"Anything else I need to know," Sam asked in the manner average people in the normal course of their daily life would asked where he might have left his car key.

"Not everyone in the company is corrupt Sam. You don't want to take the law into your own hands you might kill the wrong person. Shit man, you have the evidence. Just take it to right people, heck I can upload it online and do a version of WikiLeaks."

"Spike, don't you worry about that. Thanks for everything." The blonde hanged up, he heard enough to connect the dots. '_Exxon has a lot of explaining to do_. _He's living the good life up there'_, Sam guessed Exxon would be in one of the fourth floor exclusive three-bed units. He opened the schematics of the fifth floor Jake left him, if he had to guess this would be where the loot had been stashed, there was only one way to find out. He would make entry in the secure building.

Sam left his hidey hole, and instantly the light blinked in the tracking device_, 'He's on the move'_. Spike freaked, '_Bloody hell, I gotta get my ass in gear'._

The building Braddock needed to get entry in was a new-fangled development, a mixed use of retail, accommodation and commercial space. The first floor was occupied by high-end retailers, the next three floors were 1, 2 and 3 bedroom units and the remaining five were top-end offices. Commandos has one given they all believe: No building was ever impenetrable. Ever. For as long as people ran it, managed it, looked after it, it could be breached. The weakest link in any operation, in anything, was the human factor. Sam made the move, he'd be inside that building if the world ended today.

The instant Sam hanged up on him, Spike slid down the rope. His feet touched the ground and had a near death experience when he raised his head to come face-to-face with two military officers, "Going somewhere, Scarlatti?" '_Fuck'._

The SRU recovered and issued a dimpled charming smile, "Yeah," he said, "Goin' for a run."

"Goin' for a run, are you? You usually run in that?" He looked down on himself, _Shit, I'm still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. _

"Trying to save on laundry bill," he replied. The two officers looked at him deadpan.

"You can run with me if you like, seein' you could use some exercise. It mustn't be nice to be sittin' on your cold ass all night."

"Very funny, Scarlatti."

"Seriously, I'm goin for a run, you're welcome to join me. Ready, set, go!" And Scarlatti was off like a rocket. It caught them by surprise in that they didn't know the SRU was going to be silly enough to dare. He did dare and now they're two hundredth of a second too slow.

Spike jumped in his car and waved goodbye, the two officers jumped in theirs and then found their unfortunate car wouldn't start. "What the hell…!"

The Techie glanced at the blinking light in his tracker, the light had stopped moving, _shit, shit, shit! You better not be dead, Braddock. Jules will kill me. I'm seriously so dead._


	8. By all Means Necessary

_Author's Note: Spike's reference to Sam's transformation to Black Panther first appeared in the story "Beyond this Place of Blood and Tears" specifically chapters 5 and 6. This story featured Sam's commando skills and training. _

**By All Means Necessary**

Spike followed his tracker and arrived at Sam's hidey hole. The Techie's heart stopped momentarily as he looked intently at the blinking light on his lap and then surveyed the location where Sam might actually be. He got out of the car and stood rooted next to it, he felt blood drain from his head and pool at his feet, there was nothing there but thick bushes. _'Mio Dio, Samuel Braddock'_, he might have been too late. The thought that all he'd come here for was to salvaged his friend's lifeless body kicked up some very ugly emotions. _'You better not do a Lou on me, Braddock.'_

He exhaled and counted to eight. Inhaled, and counted to eight. He did this until he felt steady on his feet. He entered the thick bushes and came to Sam's camo netting, he caught himself feeling frantic, he voiced his growing stress aloud, _'Fuck me, Lou, don't you die on me!' _ He lifted the netting and it revealed the padded, insulated military issued sleeping bag. He patted it, it was empty, 'Thank God, Lou.'

'_Oh…'_, he had a sudden realisation that he was, just then, trapped in two realities, of Lou's passing and Sam's present predicament_. 'Thank God, Sam.'_

He fell on one knee and unzipped the bag, he smiled involuntarily, the tinny tiny device he stealthily put in Sam's pocket was in it with a little note that said, 'Thanks buddy, I didn't know you love me,' with a funny face drawn next to it.

Spike shook his head_, 'Where could he be?' _ He made some mental calculation. His cell phone rang around 3:50am, give or take a few. They spoke on the phone for around 15 minutes, he was sliding down the rope at around 4:20am, he checked the time, 4:30am. He was on-site within 10 minutes. And in 10 minutes Sam Braddock managed to become invisible, _'What the hell is this guy made of?" _Spike surmised that Sam had transformed to Black Panther.

Sam's clothes were neatly folded at the end of the sleeping bag, habits die hard, another sign he wasn't lifted screaming and kicking from his hidey hole. His military canvas bag was left behind but it's nearly empty of its contents – Spike guessed that most of it was now bodily attached to Sam.

Indeed, if he could see Sam Braddock now, he looked like Black Panther in his Commando suit, black pair of gloves, mountaineering gears and favourite rock climbing footwear, the black Matador Lace from Red Chilli. Around his waist was a climbing ziplock; attached to this were his belay, descender karabiners, Swiss army knife and especially designed pouch that contained his lock pick; looped sideways across his body was 60m climbing rope. Round his wrist worn like a bracelet was a roll of duct tape. Around his inner thigh was a K-bar knife sheath. His Luger was tucked in the small of his back, secured by his ziplock. On his head was his trusty helmet.

Sam checked the time, 5:05am. Any minute now a wannabe would be coming out the door in jogging gears. That's human psychology. A man finds success, gets himself an abode in an exclusive building and suddenly he becomes very self-conscious of his physical appearance. Next you know he'd be stocking up on the best jogging shoes money could buy. He wasn't going to do any of the entry the hard way. Why scale a building when cunning would do?

Braddock wasn't wrong, he saw a silhouette through the glass door. A man in his 30's in a beanie, full-zipped track jacket, tracksuit pants and jogging shoes was coming out the door. Sam dropped down on one knee and pretended he was trying to get his electronic key card to gain access to the building. The man opened the door to exit, Sam immediately got up on his feet, stuck a foot inside and said "Thanks, buddy."

The man looked at him, more like inspected him from head to foot. The helmet shielded his face from being identified and the two-day facial hair made him look like he just found civilisation. He smiled coolly, shrugged his shoulders and said, "Just got back from the mountains."

"Oh, I was gonna say I don't think the rock climbing gym was open at this hour."

Sam laughed lightly, "I don't climb walls for recreation, I do enough of that at work."

"Believe me, I understand" said the young man, "By the way, which floor are you in?"

"Fourth," he said. The man was suitably impressed, "Right, I better get going." And just like that Sam was in! The human factor was always the weakest link. Impress someone well enough and any door would open.

He ventured to the elevator; it needed a key card, too. '_Not a problem'_, he tried the fire exit door. He depressed the handle down, it opened. Sam pounded up the stairs to the fifth floor, he reached it in three minutes, not bad considering he had on him gears totalling nearly 10 kilos. The fire exit door didn't have a handle. He took out his lock pick and performed a magic trick, the lock clicked open. He guessed it wouldn't be alarmed since Jake was able to make entry to secretly film a meeting between William Exxon and whatchamacallhisname; unless security was beefed up, of course. '_Only way to find out.'_

Sam gave the door a gentle nudge, no alarm sounded unless it was a silent alarm then he was dead. Too late for any regret or second guessing, he was dead anyway so what the heck. He was going to take them with him.

He opened the door wider, no alarm, he stayed out on the stairwell listening for any pounding feet. No one came running to check the stairs. He crouched down. He removed his Swiss army knife that had a mini torch attached to it. He shone it on the floor to check for any tell-tale sign of a pressure pad trigger. None. The floor was all marble. He checked for laser lights. None. Interesting. Way too easy, a trap? He considered that for a moment. He decided it wasn't. It was more by design than anything else. Leave a floor unprotected and thieves assume there wasn't anything there worth protecting. Reverse psychology at play. So… just like that… Braddock was in.

Meantime, Spike was on the ground, walking the street as if he belonged. Using his photographic memory he looked around for a specific building, a photo of it was in the file. He remembered a street name, he consulted his road directory and found it in seconds. He looked up not far from the corner where he stood and pinged the building. Now, he just had to find a way to gain entry and mess with the security system. All good! Child's play.

The first place Spike went in search of was the box. The sort that housed all the electricity stuff no one dared touch, not if they could help it. Spike was going to short it, _'No big deal.'_

Back in the suburb where a Sargent Greg Parker lived, two military officers rang the doorbell insistently, it was 5:15am. The SRU Boss opened the door sleepily, they roused him from a rare sleep-in and he wasn't friggin' impressed. "What can I do for you?"

"Sargent Parker, Officer Scarlatti has gone to ground. Have you heard from him?"

It wasn't the sort of news he liked hearing at the crack of dawn. "Come in," he said. The cherubic-faced Sargent rubbed his face, "Welcome to my world, gentlemen."


	9. The Commando and the Geek

_Author's Note: Spike first went off the grid in the story, "Hell Hath No fury."_

**The Commando and the Geek**

Braddock consulted with his Suunto, 5:15am. He's at the fifth floor landing and just completed his detailed survey of any visible security features. So far, he detected no pressure pad triggers and no laser beams. He looked at the ceiling there appeared to be no cameras, this would have to be deliberate, whoever was running this show didn't want any surprise film footage appearing on Youtube or same such social media or worst the desk of Military Intelligence. After a couple of deep breaths, he ventured in stealthily, his path aided by a pin point light from his mini Maglite.

Scarlatti found the box in no time, no rocket science. Electrical boxes needed to be visible and handy to electricians in the event of. No one, of course, accounted for the possibility of deliberate sabotage. Before he shorted it, he thought to disable the generator first. A building this good-looking and sophisticated had to have a secondary source of electricity. He went in search of it. Using common sense, he guessed it would have to be housed in the basement for security reason. This wasn't going to be easy because he had to walk through the security underground garage to get to the basement, which meant no matter how careful he was to stay within the camera's blind side, he was going to be seen somehow. He didn't want to become tomorrow's news headline, **SRU Geek Suspected Saboteur.** _'Ah, no, that just won't do.'_

His el cheapo Casio G-Shock watch told him to get his act together, pronto. He found a small window, he'd fit through if he could break the glass without causing commotion. The quiet wasn't ideal, noise travel farther and louder when it's quiet. He had nothing on him he could use to deaden the noise of glass breaking, wishful thinking for duct tape was pointless. He kept going and bam! An open window! _'Someone always forgets.' _He squeezed in head first, then one shoulder and then the next and the rest of his body followed; pretty much how a baby came out of the mother's birth canal through you-know-what. He was in.

Spike found himself close to where tradesmen hang their hats, put their feet up and store their goodies. He found the generator and like everything that's new it came with a manual nobody read. The manual was still wrapped in plastic and left inside the control panel for easy reach. He read the part that said Maintenance/Troubleshooting although he wasn't interested in doing either one. He was interested in causing trouble, but not sabotage. When it was all done and dusted, he would restore everything back to normal. He followed the instructions and got the generator out of the way. 5:30am. Sunlight would be shining soon and all this effort would be for nothing if he didn't get his ass going.

Before going out the same way he went in, the techie helped himself to a pair of work men's gloves, a pair of pliers, pipe, hammer and…. duct tape, _'I really shouldn't leave home without it.'_

Greg Parker made coffee to start the day, "Let me round up my people," he told his visitors. He assumed correctly that they had their own guests; they might as well do the entertaining together. He sent a group text message and waited.

William Exxon always got up at 5:30am because habits die hard. He might have gone soft, he might have swapped his camouflage uniform for Armani suits and his combat boots for Hugo Boss but he still got up at 5:30am. Well, in truth he swapped that for the 4:00am start of his old life. He didn't pound the pavement anymore, he ran the treadmill instead. Sort of an upgrade. He didn't spar with anyone anymore either, he didn't like the feel of a pugilist's fist on his face instead he beat the hardness out of a punching sand bag. A lot had changed for William Exxon.

He got up and wandered to his European style kitchen, pressed a button on his sexy Italian coffee maker and aroma wafted through the exquisite domain. He inhaled the luxurious smell of freshly ground coffee and then the lights went out. The whole building went dark, were it not for the ambient light from the rising sun it would be pitch dark.

William, nicknamed Oily during his SF days, walked to the wall-to-wall windows, drew the blinds half-way up to check the surrounding buildings. They all had electricity. The former commando sensed something was up. He went to get his MP5, and made a move to go up to the fifth floor still dressed in his luxury labelled satin PJs and still barefoot.

The only soul in the building who wasn't aware of the blackout was Sam. His mini Maglite was all he required for the job. After all, with his current job description, the dark was what he needed. He placed a box in front of the door; no one was going to get inside without him being alerted. The cavernous open-plan room had its own goods elevator. Stacked close to it were five by three by ten boxes of aids drugs ready to be moved. To one side were crates of guns and ammunitions. He found boxes of gas mask, flash bangs, grenades. It was an arsenal with enough toys to start a mini war. Separate from all these were ten wooden crates, he knew what was inside them, RPG. Rocket propelled grenades.

He removed the rope looped across his body and put it down close to the window. He opened as many boxes in the time that he had, and took photos.

Spike waited by the door, just out of sight of anyone coming out, shortly after a lady in running gear with headphones attached to her ears came out, he went in looking unkempt. He had been wearing the same clothes for the last 48 hours, he'd been up and down rapelling ropes in them, been down the basement and up again and been naughty with the electrical box. The lady created distance between the two of them and covered her nose, he must stink. He smiled apologetically, craters decorated his cheeks, "Sorry, gotta go shower now." The young lady couldn't help but laughed. Geek was in, just like that.

With the power down, nothing was working. No cameras, no elevators, nothing to worry about. He rushed up the stairs to the fourth floor. He'd pay a visit to Unit 7, the files he read were explicit, specific, detailed and well documented – that was where the action was. He picked the lock of the fire exit. It was child's play. As he turned the corner to the corridor, he bumped into Mr Unit 7 heading towards the fire exit to go one floor up.

Spike paused, the man looked familiar, _'The man on the file – William Exxon'_. Now he was torn between going in the Unit or following. _'Shit'_, the indecision killed him. He decided to visit the Unit and do what he did best. He looked around to check no one was loitering about, picked the lock. It clicked, Spike audibly said, "We're in business." He went in, paused momentarily by the door and exclaimed, "Holly molly, macaroni." The abode looked just about right to be on the cover of Interior Design magazine. It was divine.

At 5:45am, Team One trickled into Greg's living room, starting with Raf, the last to arrive was Winnie. "What's this about?" asked the cranky Fearless Leader. Ed Lane T1's Team Leader was in a bad mood, he had planned to go fishing with Clark which had to be abandoned on short notice. "Couldn't just traced him through his cellphone?"

The visitor said, "We couldn't find a signal."

Raf laughed, "That's because his car is pre-historic and he usually keeps his cellphone switched off unless he's waiting for a call."

"Pre-historic?" the visitors asked in unison.

Winnie answered, "He drives a 1985 6-series BMW coupe. That was before computer chips in cars, and he drives with a road directory, not a GPS locator."

The two visitors looked at each other with raised eyebrows, the quieter one inquired, "But he's a geek right?"

Jules laughed and stated the obvious, "That's why you can't find him, right? He's been off the grid before, trust me we didn't bother looking. If he didn't want to be found, you won't find him."

Just 15 kilometres from where they all gathered, just off the middle of the financial district of Toronto, two Commandos crossed paths for the first time in six years.

"Good morning, Oily."

Exxon didn't expect to hear from Braddock so soon; he removed the safety of his MP5, the distinctive soft click sound travelled to Sam's ears, his eyes narrowed like a black panther's.

Two Commandos. Two guns. Two motivations. But only one of them wanted vengeance.

5:47am, Jules felt a chill in the back of her neck. She adjusted herself on her seat to disguise her discomfort. She had a feeling.


	10. The Confrontation

_Author's Note: The origin of Sam's SF nickname was first explained in the story "Beyond this Place of Blood and Tears"._

**The Confrontation**

On hearing Sam's voice, Exxon replied, "Good morning to you too, Blondie. Long time no see." He managed to hide his shock with a monotone. The idiot he sent after Lt Drury reported everything was dandy, obviously it was not. It was an elementary mistake on his part. He now thought in hindsight that if he wanted to do things right, he's gotta do it himself. Problem was he's gotten used to giving orders as he was past getting his hands dirty.

William Exxon was equally blonde, if not more than Braddock. Yet he got the unfortunate nickname of "Oily" instead. It started out as "Exxon Valdez" in reference to the 1989 oil spill that occurred in Prince William Sound, Alaska on March 24. The Exxon Valdez, an oil tanker bound for Long Beach, California, struck Prince William Sound's Bligh Reef and spilled 260,000 to 750,000 barrels (41,000 to 119,000 m3) of crude oil; one of the most devastating human-caused environmental disasters ever. The nickname morphed to "oil Spill" which later because "Oily" also a sideways dig at the former Warrant Officer's ability to wriggle out of tight situation.

"I'd go easy on the trigger if I was you," Sam warned in a tone that offered no doubt he meant business. The SRU sniper knew he had the upper hand in that he didn't care if he lived or died, but Exxon was another story altogether, he desired to live long to enjoy his ill-gotten wealth.

The 6:00am sunrise didn't much good in the fifth floor. All the windows were blacked out with thick blinds so Braddock used his mini Maglite to highlight something duct taped at the wall to Oily's right. His attention drawn to it, Exxon drew a tight breath as he saw a grenade, its lever wound with tape, and the firing pin attached to a piece of climbing rope.

"You know what that means, one tug and you're dead."

"Don't be stupid, Blondie… I'm dead and you're dead." Exxon retorted.

"Let me refresh your memory Oily, as you've obviously lost the touch. Commando 101, do not make entry without an exit plan," Braddock said with a laugh. "Sorry for you… you have no way out of here."

Exxon wasn't a man to be trifle with, he had the same training as Braddock, he may have gone a little soft but he was still a brilliant tactician, if push came to shove he could always think of a way out. "You wish it was that easy… you've forgotten, Blondie who used to kick your ass every single bloody time."

"Oh, yeah," Braddock replied lazily, the goading washing off his back. "You used to beat me at kick-boxing, judo, jujitsu, sniping. Heck you even beat me once at a hotdog eating contest. You're one of the best and I **used** to look up to you. But you've forgotten something, Ooooiiillllyyy, my IQ is 10 points higher than yours."

At a bare minimum Special Forces personnel had to have a higher than average intelligence. The idea of a SF grunt and brute with no brains didn't exist in reality. Fact is these men had to be medics, intelligence officers, snipers, spies, bomb techs, engineers out on the field. They had to have the ability to navigate out of impossible and unfamiliar terrain anyone who could get lost in the middle of a shopping centre had no chance getting into SF. These men were trained not to rely on technology though they had the best gadgets.

Some of these men retire from the Force and later reinventing themselves to become best-selling authors, linguists, consultants, logistics experts and a handful became real surgeons. And, Samuel Braddock, he was deadly at geometry. Oily's mental abilities can't be sneezed at either; he was cunning, wily and devious, the ideal chameleon.

The look on Exxon's eyes turned venomous. "What no retort?" Braddock goaded back. "I think that's called selective mutism." But it was Sam who showed emotion first. "Why?" he asked as his jaw tightened, the eyes watered so he was glad to be out of his adversary's line of sight.

Oily looked at the ceiling, if nothing else he could buy time while he find the opportunity to finish the avenging blonde, he knew by the sound of Braddock's voice Sam wouldn't kill him without getting an answer_… 'I'd give you the long-winded story'_.

Exxon looked around unblinking, "Tell me what you know… I'll fill in the blanks," he said as he started to move a little to his left.

"I wouldn't take another step if I was you," Braddock warned. The other Blonde stopped and smirked, he recognised Psych Warfare 101. Now, he must decide whether Braddock was bluffing or not, but one thing was clear Braddock was presently in the driver seat. _'He's controlling the agenda… for now.' _

"I'd be happy for us to talk Braddock but stand where I can see you," he said.

"There's no problem with my hearing, I don't need to read lips, start talking."

"What's there to say Braddock? He's an idiot," Exxon referring to Lt Drury.

"How's he an idiot?"

"He found out something he shouldn't have… got all high and mighty with me. The deal was for $5M US green bucks. I offered to split it with him. He could have just walked away from it and said nothing, would have the money to retire on for Annie and Jonathan and the new baby… but **noooooo**… he had to be a hero. Hero, my ass!"

'_Baby, did he say baby?' _Sam thought grimly. "What's the baby's name?"

"How the hell do I know? You can ask Annie yourself if you're still alive after today."

"She's pregnant?" Sam said in a questioning tone. Exxon heard the emotional clue, and found a hole in the SRU's armour, "Oh yeah, a baby without a father and guess what genius… they'll all live on a veteran's pension happily ever after."

Sam exploded out of his cover in anger and Exxon fired his MP5!

Upon entering Unit 7 on level four, Spike headed to the kitchen first, using a dishrag he opened the cupboard under the sink and found some surgical gloves. He put a pair on and started a thorough search.

He found a Louis Vuitton hand carry in the vanity cupboard in the bathroom; it was big enough to carry all he needed. He found a laptop, a PDA, an iphone, an ipad, a cell, another cell, and another cell phone, _'He must be moonlighting as a cell phone salesman'_. Spike stashed them all in the hand carry.

Next, he went to office and found the state-of-the-art desktop. He didn't bother to download the information that would take too much time, he thought out of the box. He lifted the CPU on the mahogany table, opened the back of the box, unscrewed the entire hard drive and bagged it in the hand carry. Not satisfied, he picked the locks of every single drawer and discovered a black hardbound diary_, 'Yup, all important people are in a black book.'_ He took that, too.

He went back to the kitchen, opened the fridge and helped himself to a small tub of yoghurt, he was famished. He reasoned to himself that if he didn't eat something, he'd faint and then they'd have to cart his assassinated body out of the unit in no time. He looked in the fridge again and found a box of chocolate cake from a famous, expensive cake shops in Toronto, he helped himself to it. He washed the spoon and stuck it inside the dishwasher.

He looked at his time piece 6:30am, he's been in the unit for an hour. His brain told him he really must make a move but his anal nature won out! He scanned the unit again starting from the main door, going right to left. He lifted every portrait and wall décor to check behind each of them. He ran his fingers along the insides of every cupboard, drawer, closets, under the mattress, he looked under the base, _'There you are... come to daddy,'_ he reached under the bed and found a well-used spiral notebook.

Spike went back to the bathroom, and found a walk-in robe the size of his apartment. One wall was full of designer clothes, another full of designer-labelled shoes, the other of designer accessories from cuff links to ties to bowties to monogrammed handkerchief. And one small concealed entry disguised as a full length mirror, he walked in and found an arsenal to start a war. "Naughty boy," he said with a shake of his pretty head.

He saw himself in the mirror and cringed, he had an idea. He turned on the shower, undressed and got in for a good wash, singing Pavarotti's operatic hit, "Nessum Dorma." Not once did he entertain the thought that the owner of the apartment might comeback any moment.

When he was all cleaned up, he styled his hair using Exxon's mouse and hair dryer. He dressed in designer suits and shoes and accessorised himself. He checked in the mirror and was suitably impressed at the mannequin that stared back, he did a pose and quoted a funny line from the movie Zoolander, "I'm pretty sure there's a lot more to life than being really, really good looking. And I plan on finding out what that is." To complete the look, he went inside the arsenal and helped himself to a Desert Eagle, he took a clip and checked the number of rounds. _'Good to go.'_

He looked at the time again, 7:00am, he got a good-sized garbage bag from the kitchen and bagged his things and everything he couldn't possibly wipe clean. When he leaves the unit, there would be no trace of Michaelangelo "Spike" Scarlatti. He would remain a ghost. He got a 500ml bottle of Domestos from under the bathroom sink and emptied it in the shower, any epithelial evidence from his body cell and hair roots would die soon.

He walked out of the unit with a garbage bag in one hand, and a Louis Vuitton in the other. He turned into the corridor and tossed the garbage bag inside the rubbish chute.

As Spike opened the fire door, he heard the muzzled fire of the MP5! He dashed up to the fifth floor on instinct. But as he entered the fire door to the fifth level, another shot rang out. **"Mother of God." **He left the Louis Vuitton on the floor, and drew the Desert Eagle.

Meanwhile, the Mexican stand-off at Greg's house continued to play out, the visitors from Military Intelligence asked one more time, "Has any of you heard from them? Now is the time to come clean."

Jules lost it, "If anyone of us has heard from them, we couldn't be sitting here on our ass!" The eyes said it all! _'Get the hell out of our way.'_


	11. Black Panther and James Bond

_Author's Note: This chapter used to be entitled "Time in Pieces"._

**"Black Panther and James Bond"**

Spike ran to the door and pressed his back to the wall in preparation for entry. There was no hope for surprise or stealth. The best he could hope for was for Mr Exxon Valdez to know Sam wasn't alone. The Techie's brain kicked up a notch, and screamed at him to _'get-a-move-on'_ when he heard moaning_, 'Fuck, fuck, fuck.'_

"Sam! I've got your back, buddy…," in a voice he hoped sounded real tough. He was aware his voice was pitched higher than most men but he could modulate it. He could make it lower especially when lives were at stake. Still unsure who was injured or maybe dead, he shouted out his well-rehearsed line, "Exxon! Exxon, I swear to you, it doesn't matter what third world jungle you hide out in, I will find you." He heard more moaning sound.

He mentally scoped his options, _'If Sam was injured or dying, what are you gonna do, ah?' _To make entry into the unknown would be suicidal, but to wait for help now would mean someone inside, maybe Samuel Braddock, could be bleeding to death. He peeped in_, 'It's bloody dark in there.' _He observed his location. It was nothing but a long corridor from the fire exit, he passed an elevator on the way to _this _door, "Exxon, there's no way out but through me. I suppose you can jump out of the window if you dare."

He remembered his Swiss Army knife, he never left home without it. Attached to it was a mini Maglite similar to Braddock's, in fact it was a gift from him to Sam. He turned it on. The pin prick light didn't help much. He wondered if in fact he was simply making him a better target than without it. Nevertheless he stopped second guessing himself, he opened the door wider with his foot, he heard another moan followed by a pained voice, "Fuck you, Braddock."

Scarlatti's heart nose-dived til he heard a familiar voice, "Yeah, Oily, fuck me… if you still get your dick up after this!" followed by a gut wrenching sound of a fist making contact with the nether region. He knew instinctively it was _the _nether region because of the agonised scream that bellowed from Exxon's lungs. Spike involuntarily crossed his legs.

"Spike, can... slowly open the blinds," the Techie went to the windows and realised the blinds wouldn't go up without electricity. Just as he was beginning to regret his decision to cut the power out it came back on, _'The people must have been frantically calling the electricity company.' _He felt mighty proud of himself, _'It took them an hour and a half to get the power back on, I must have done some real damage in the box,'_ he shrugged inwardly.

The blinds slowly moved up, and then there was light! He turned around to find Sam bleeding in the upper leg, "Sam, shit!"

"I'm ok, it's just a graze."

Sam glanced up and saw Spike in his $5,000 designer suit and shoes, he smiled broadly, "Fuck me, James Bond, you're a little late to the game."

Spike smiled, his tension eased, to see his buddy smiling was great for the soul. With his feet spread a foot apart, hands in his pocket, the designer jacket spread out to showcase the lily white polo shirt inside, he replied, "I was busy getting dressed."

"Help me with this," Sam was wrapping Exxon in duct tape. "Hand me the rope will ya," pointing to a piece of rope dangling from the wall. Spike followed it with his eyes; it was attached to a grenade pin, "Is that what I think it is?"

Sam sounded exasperated, "Spike, it's not that I don't enjoy havin a conversation with ya, but we gotta do this now, ok?"

"Sure," the Techie answered and gingerly brought the rope over to Sam, making sure he didn't accidentally pull the pin.

Sam attached the rope to Exxon's bound hands with a clear instruction not to move or it would be Kingdom come, "I don't care if I live or die so pull it if you like, go ahead", Sam dared. Scarlatti's eyes grew big and wide, he mentally flapped, _'I care. I do care.'_

Sam went to the ammunition box, took out a handful of bullets and used it to spell out the words, "Play me" on the marble floor, next to it he left Jake's encrypted phone. He recorded the entire conversation on it.

From a distant they heard sirens, "People have called in the gun shots, we gotta go man," Sam went to the double insulated window, put a large X on it using duct tape. He aimed his Luger at the glass window and shot it six times in a circle around the letter. The glass weakened, he kicked out a whole chunk of it to the ground. Sam tossed the climbing rope and said, "After you, James Bond."

Spike looked at him like he had a hole in the head, "What, in this? No way, I'm climbing down the stairs," he said with a wink. Sam winked back and fast roped down. Fast roping was developed by the British SAS. It was inspired by the way firemen slide down a pole. SF use this method of entry from a helicopter where the chopper could not land. In truth, Sam's karabiners and ascender clip were excess to requirement as fast roping eliminated the need to clip and unclip one's self from the rope which added valuable seconds to an assault or a quick exit. The Black Panther was gone before the first responder arrived at the scene.

Spike picked up his loot and James Bonded his way out of the front door. The Techie smiled when he spotted Sgt Troy and Team Four looking like cyborgs in full gear. He looked so sure of himself and so dapper in his outfit, police officers ushered him out respectfully as full evacuation of building dwellers commenced. He walked casually to his 27-year old car and drove off. He checked his timepiece, it was 7:45am.

Sam left the building and went back to his hidey hole only to find that it's been discovered, he now had to make distance in his commando suit, not ideal at all. He turned around when he heard "Psst," it was Spike. He smiled and got on the passenger seat.

Once Sam settled in, Spike asked, "Tell me Samtastic… what happened in there?" Sam looked distant for a second, "Exxon was always better than me at everything, Spike." The Techie could not believe it, "Someone was better than Black Panther?"

Sam laughed despite his extreme exhaustion, "Yeah, but I'm more clever than him… I removed my watch. It had a red backlight so you can read it in the dark. I tossed it in the air before I rolled out of hiding, down on the ground. His eyes followed the watch and fired. I fired back at him using the muzzle flash from his gun as a guide and hit him in the gut."

"Simple plan really." He said it without emotion, it was just that… a clinical operation, executed with precision. That's what SF were trained for. No showcasing. No peacocking. Just economy of movement. Economy of ammunition. Economy of time.

"How did you get wounded?" Spike looked down at Sam's bloody leg. Braddock shrugged, "I think I snagged on something when I as I rolled on the ground, there were plenty in there to kill you." Then it was quiet, except for the soft humming of the German-made engine.

"Let's go home, shall we?" Sam didn't answer, Spike looked at his friend with his peripheral vision, he was passed out on the passenger seat. He smiled, "Sleep tight, buddy."

He has seen just one photo of Sam with his Suunto, an X10 Military and no longer in production. He glanced at the sleeping beauty_, 'It must have been important to you buddy because you kept it all this time.' _It was one memento of his war he brought home, now that timepiece lay in shattered pieces_. 'It's time to let it go Samtastic! Let that time lay in pieces… if you can."_

Spike stopped at Sam's apartment. He left the SRU sniper in the car to sleep off his fatigue. He took the Louis Vuitton hand carry with him and entered Sam's domain. Yellow crime scene tapes were stuck to the door. He would hide the evidence here until Sam sorted himself out. The apartment had already been searched thoroughly. Every crevice of it had been turned inside out, it would not be checked again. He went to the bedroom. At a guess he thought this was where Sam had a hidey hole. He went to the wardrobe, felt for a detachable panel. "Gotcha." He removed it, dropped the LV hand carry. "See ya later."

Sam was still sleeping when he returned. His Casio G-shock said, 8:30am. _'I better check with Miss Sunshine.'_ He dialled her number. Win had a jolt of fright when the phone vibrated in her pocket. She had nervously sat rigid in Sgt Parker's living room, although she was surrounded by close friends this was an alien experience for her. She was frightened for her husband, not for herself. She exhaled and dug into her pocket. A familiar voice said, "Hello, Miss Sunshine."

She answered tentatively, "Michaelangelo?"

'_Oh, oh, trouble.' _Spike simply said, "I love you very much" and hanged up.

Both visitors lasered on her, "Was that Spike?"

She didn't lie, "Yes," she said, "But he disconnected."

The visitors weren't fooled, "Michaelangelo… that's the distress signal isn't it?" She looked down which was in itself an admission of guilt. It wasn't officially a distress signal, it's just that she habitually used his full name when she's angry, upset, distress or just about anything out of the ordinary. Spike decided to make distance until Sam wakes up, when they could talk about what to do next.

Annie found someone to look after Jonathan, the grieving widow waited for her escorts to arrive. Arrived they did at 9:00am promptly. She went to the door to meet them soon as she heard the car stopped in front of her house. With a heavy heart, she prepared herself to identify the body of her husband. But….

She wished time stopped yesterday morning. She wished he didn't leave after breakfast. She wished they stayed in bed cuddled together. She only stopped wishing when the uniformed officer asked if she was ready, she nodded and said, "Yes" with as much dignity as she could muster.


	12. That's it, Time's up!

**That's it, Time's up!**

**9:00am** – The wall clock told him they've been holed up at Greg's house for nearly three hours, Fearless Leader Ed Lane has had enough, "That's it, time's up," he declared, blue eyes flashing. "If you need me, you know where to send the subpoena but I'm **not** going to be baby sat in the off chance that two SRU officers, on their rostered day off, went hiking."

"Sir, sit back down," the more senior of the two military officers said albeit without much conviction. First Officer Ed Lane stood to his full height and eyeballed both, "Or what…?" When they didn't move a muscle, the Team Leader added, "I thought so. Guys, let's go. They have no reason to hold us here."

The Team obeyed their leader as one and trooped out; everyone except Winnie. She turned to Greg and ask if she could stay for a while longer. "Of course", said the Sargent, "Marina's in the dining room, join her for breakfast. She'll love to have your company." Mrs Scarlatti excused herself and was relieved to be out of sight.

One of the officers called HQ to report in, he was promptly told to "cease". Both men gave their apologies to Sgt Parker on behalf of their Command and bade goodbye. Greg told them he understood fully and added he hoped things would get cleared up soon.

Jules was half-way home when her phone vibrated in her pocket, she fished it out, saw Scarlatti on the screen, "Spike!"

The Techie replied, "Good morning to you, too. You're spending too much time with Braddock. I've got him. Where can we meet?"

Jules' heart jumped a little, she wasn't sure what was happening but this was the best news she's heard all night and all morning. In the last 20 hours, from 2pm yesterday Braddock had gone dark. Until she knew what they were in for, she wanted to protect him. "There's a cottage in Leslieville, I know the manager," she gave Spike the address. "I'll meet you there in 20 minutes."

Spike arrived a few minutes ahead of Jules who went in to get a key from her friend. They had to bodily aid Sam out of the car. Sam was _that_ tired, but so was Spike. Neither one of them have had any sleep, the fatigue was now biting into their psyche and mental faculties.

They carried Sam into the bedroom. Jules checked the leg wound and decided it was nothing to worry about. The blood had congealed into a scab, so the open wound had protection from infection. That would have to do for now. She looked at Sam's sleeping form, his tousled appearance tugged at her heart's string. Scarlatti had left the bedroom to give them space and himself promptly fainted into complete oblivion on the couch.

Jules left Sam to sleep off his tiredness and was greatly amused to find Spike sprawled on the couch in his James Bond outfit, _'There has to be a great story to go with this,'_ she took a photo and sent it to Win with the caption, "Out for the Count."

Win showed the photo to Greg who just as quickly pressed speed dial on his phone to call Jules. "Where are you?" Jules gave the address. Greg and Win drove off in a jiffy, their minds racing with questions upon questions upon questions. Greg stopped at an Italian bakery to buy some food supplies. It would be a long day.

Sgt Troy and Team Four had entered the building and checked everyone was out. The retail section of the building was prohibited from opening their doors until the police could give the all-clear much to the retailers' displeasure. The manageress of an exclusive shop that sold women's frocks complained bitterly to Sgt Troy about "police over reaction." He didn't take kindly to the whinging, "Madame, if you don't get out of my way, I will have you arrested. Trust me you won't survive ten minutes in jail." Sadly for her, hours later, the exclusion zone expanded substantially when SRU Team Four reached level five.

First to enter level five was Sgt Troy, he called for immediate back-up when he saw the military inventory and the rigged grenade attached to the wall. On the floor, written with bullets was "Play me." He didn't pick it up, instead he instructed his Techie on his Comms link, "Call the bomb squad."

SRU, the elite police unit were trained to handle everything unknown with healthy suspicion. Pressing play might just be the trigger that cause all these, he surveyed the open-plan ware-house unit, to explode.

Annie arrived at Dwyer Hill Facility to identify her husband. The Coroner pulled him out of his refrigerated container, and lifted the cover from his face. She looked at him closely, he seemed to be peaceful. Asleep. She stroked his hair, traced his face with her fingers, gently, as if she might wake him up. When she found her voice she asked, "How did he die?"

The coroner, a kindly man in his 50s said, "He was fatally shot. He didn't suffer. It's important for you to know that." She smiled. She knew the drill, every family members were told "Your loved one didn't suffer." She accepted this without question, _'What would it serve to find out the truth of how he died'. _It wasn't as if she could avenge his death.

"Mrs Drury, his dog tag was not on him. I'm afraid there were no personal items found on him. I'm so sorry." She cried uncontrollably, unashamed of the tears that gushed down from a pool within. _'They weren't satisfied to take his life. They took his wedding ring, his Suunto, his wallet, his clothes, his dignity.'_ She felt for his hand under the cover and held it. It was cold. He didn't squeeze back when she did. The coroner left to give her privacy and time to mourn.

The coroner returned after half an hour with papers for her to sign, there was no point lingering, back home was a 7 year old waiting for her to look after him. She thanked the coroner, "thanks for looking after him." He nodded and said, "The least I can do for a war hero."

He followed her with his eyes until she turned the corner. The coroner looked down at the lifeless body with great sorrow, _'What a waste of a promising life.'_ He completed his secondary autopsy and noted down the longitude and latitude written in phospur on Lt Drury's body. That wasn't in the original report, he assumed Jane Escobar and Dr George must have missed it. Had this been noted in the original report, military intelligence would have known where to find Braddock; and ex-Warrant Officer William Exxon could have gone off scot-free. Alas his time was also up!

It was 2:00pm by the time the drama in the financial district of Toronto ended. They watched it played out live on their television screen. People were glued to it. The mopping up operation took five hours. First, paramedics were shown carrying out a wounded ex-JTF2 soldier in a stretcher, escorted by fully dressed military personnel. Soldiers came and went carting off crates and crates of what reporters called "war paraphernalia." Greg and Jules laughed their heads off. Away from the spotlight, soldiers carefully inventoried the guns, ammunitions, and rockets and aids drugs. RCMP bomb squad declared that the phone was not rigged to anything that might explode. Every bit of the building was photographed, dusted for prints, searched with a fine tooth comb. There was no prints found apart from William Exxon's.

The news reporter was summing up the report live when Sam woke up, exactly 24 hours since his life up-ended. He came out of the bedroom ghostly pale from exertion. "Hey," he said. Everyone turned to look at him, except Spike who was still out for the count.

Jules got up to hug him which he appreciated, "I'm hungry. Is there something to eat?" Jules served him. He ate slowly, deliberately, thoughtfully. He stopped eating before he finished his meal, "Jules, did you see my phone?"

She handed it over. He turned it on, it rang once, the well-trained communications officer on the other end said, "Yes." He gave his name and serial number then finished with "If you let Exxon out, I will finish him off." He ended the call and stared at the wall. If the human eyes could actually set off a laser beam, he could have borne a hole into it.

Jules watched from a safe distance and realised the war in Sam's mind wasn't over.


	13. Last Post

**Last Post**

Three days later the funeral of Lt Jake Drury was announced. Annie asked Sam to deliver one of the eulogies, he respectfully declined. He said he didn't trust himself not to go to pieces in front of the congregation and thereby upsetting her and Jonathan. She said she understood.

The funeral was a low-key affair, only close family and friends were invited to the service. On the day, Sam came to pay his respects with Jules alongside him. It was open casket, he paused with her beside him at the chapel door, summoning the courage to say goodbye to his buddy. He didn't know why he felt responsible for his death. It wasn't as if, logically, he could have prevented it.

Viewing Jake and saying goodbye helped to ease his sorrow… a little. Lt Drury laid in his casket looking every bit as peaceful as when he was sleeping in a hammock out on the field. He was, indeed, as corny as it sounded resting in peace. The suffering and the sacrifice were over, just not for his family. _'Not for Annie and Jonathan and the baby',_ a mocking voice reverberated inside his head, "Hero, my ass… his family can live on vet's pension happily ever after." Jules tugged at his sleeve, he turned to her as she said, "There's a line behind us." He apologised to the next person and moved to sit behind the widow.

The speeches and the prayers were kept short, the choking tears of the speakers made sure of it. The military funeral only deviated from tradition when a video of the fallen soldier strumming his guitar and singing "I can't help falling in love with you" was played. He closed with the words, "For Annie." It was filmed in his cell phone and uploaded to the family computer on his last tour. _'He survived four war tours and got killed on home soil. A cruel twist of fate if there was one.'_ Even strong, grown men cried.

Annie stayed stoic for the sake of her son. She swallowed her overwhelming grief. She didn't lose it until little Jonathan dubbed the pooling tears in her eyes and said, "I'll look after you, Mommy." She instantly regretted the sob that escaped from her lips. It triggered an avalanche of tears from Jake's mother, sisters and family friends. Jonathan, not entirely understanding what was going on said, "It's gonna be ok, Mommy."

The service ended with the playing of the "Last Post", a bugle sounded. Six men, all from their old unit carried the casket out, draped in the national flag. Lt Jake Drury was given a hero's funeral and buried in hallowed grounds. But for all the pomp and ceremony, Sam was aware that once every one had gone home, Annie with little Jonathan and the baby would have to fend for themselves.

Sam distanced himself from the crowd, and strolled among the dead. Jules saw him separate himself and followed discreetly. He came to a tree, leaned his head on its massive trunk and cried his heart out. He picked up a broken branch and bashed the tree with it, yelling out to a god-forsaken world. He uttered gut-wrenching unintelligible sound until he was exhausted. It kept ringing in his ears, the goading, the mockery, "Yeah genius… let them live on a vet's pension happily ever after." The unfairness of it all, it was killing him and driving him to a burning rage.

She watched from a distance trusting him to manage his anger and his grief, when he sat crumpled on the ground she came over and placed a gentle hand on his shoulders. There was nothing to say. It was enough to let him know he wasn't alone. They waited until everyone was gone before heading home.

"Do you want to stay with me today?" Jules asked, but prepared to respect Sam's decision.

"I want to be alone for now." Jules dropped him off and said she'd see him at work tomorrow. He nodded lamely, "Yeah, see ya tomorrow."

Sam climbed up the stairs to his apartment with a growing unfamiliar sick feeling in his gut. Until a week ago, he loved coming home, he associated it with a sense of security but now it just reeked of death and blood. He made a decision to abandon camp as he made it to the landing.

His apartment was at the end of the corridor, nearest the fire exit. He was surprised to find Spike sitting with his back against the wall, his leg out in front of him. His friend didn't move as he walked towards him. The head was lolled down on his chest, the fact that Spike didn't move as he approached was enough to freak his heart out, he called out as he ran towards him, "Spike, Spike" at the same time thinking, _'Not again, no!'_

His panicked ran roused Spike who had fallen asleep waiting for him, he raised his head, smiled and said, "Finally… been waiting a while here." Sam noticeably exhaled with relief. The techie realised his friend was freaked out, "Sorry."

Sam forced a smile, "Whad ya doin' here?"

"Let me in and I'll tell you."

"Spike, I appreciate it but I'm really not in the mood to entertain, I want to be left alone." He turned the key but refused to open the door until he was sure Spike was going to make a move to leave. The techie held his ground, "I'm here for Annie and the kids."

"Whad ya mean?" he asked softly.

"Let me in, I'll show it to ya," said Spike as he showed him a six-pack of beer, "You're a beer man, right?"

"Ok, come in," he said begrudgingly.

To his surprise, Spike left the cold six-pack on the kitchen bench and headed straight to his bedroom, he followed. He was nearly ballistic when Spike removed the secret detachable panel inside his wardrobe, "What the…" Spike turned around with an unfamiliar Louis Vuitton hand carry before he could finish his sentence. Scarlatti's eyes twinkled playfully… it made Sam smile against his will.

They went to the kitchen and got started. Sam picked up something metallic and square, "what's this?" Spike smiled widely, "His hard drive. I couldn't be bothered copying the files so I took the lot." Sam shook his pretty head; he really didn't fully understand how his friend's brain ticked.

"Can I borrow your CPU?" Sam heeded and left to get a dinosaur-looking oval yellowy box. Spike laughed his head off but didn't say anything derogatory. He didn't want to risk Sam morphing into Black Panther on him.

"Make yourself useful and order some pizza. I'm very hungry." Sam smiled and realised quickly that what he needed was some comic relief and Spike was just the person to provide it.

As all the gadgets were password protected, Spike plugged them one by one to a small gadget, "what's that for?" Sam asked.

"A password cracker."

"I'm not gonna ask if that's legal… or not," joked Sam. The techie laughed and left the devices on the kitchen bench, "It'll let us know when it's done, in the meantime, turn that thing on to hockey."

The television was at least modern and handsome so Spike didn't have any complaints as he helped himself to pizza and put his feet up on the coffee table. Sam remained in the kitchen, his attention caught by an old, well-used spiral notebook. The pages looked puffed up as it was well thumbed, _'That had to hold the secret.'_

Sam perused it. Most of what was written was in code. The cipher looked familiar; it was one they devised as a Unit as they prepared an incursion inside enemy lines in Kandahar. He was surprised how quickly it all came back to him.

All up, Sam and Spike worked on the gadgets for a total of 60 hours. When they were all done, they packed everything up after sanitising every item of their prints and bodily epithelial. They sent these to Dwyer Hill anonymously via CSIS' out-going mail service.

Sam followed the news with disinterest, necks and heads rolled in connection with the scandal but as far as he was concerned it was all a done deal. His interest was in following the bread crumbs to Exxon's hidey hole, '_He had to have stashed his ill-gotten wealth somewhere'_. He was going to find it or die trying.

He kept in touch with Annie to make sure she was doing ok. She mentioned that things were a little difficult with the baby due any day now, that Jonathan was becoming more and more like his old man and that they may have to move out of their home to be closer to family. On his part, he made sure she knew he was always just a phone call away.

One late night, Spike called to say he found a property purchased by a shell company in the name of a deceased relation of William Exxon. He gave Sam the address.

Sam went for a drive and found a run-down property barricaded by high wire fence. Grass was left to be overgrown. Rubbish was strewn about. It looked like no one has lived there in years. A sign was erected in front of it, PRIVATE PROPERTY – NO TRESSPASSING. He circled it and wondered what kept squatters out. He tested the fence it wasn't electrified. Something wasn't right. It can't have been left without security; signs never deterred anyone from squatting. He climbed up a tree and crawled to an overhanging branch. He saw them in the dark, a pack of Dobermans, trained to be quiet and stealthy. They were looking up at him, as if saying, _'You can come in but you can't get out.'_

He went away and made plans to return. The next night, he perched up on the branch again in a new commando suit. Looped across his body was his new climbing rope, around his waist in a ziplock were screwdriver, pair of pliers and duct tape. Slung across his back was a military grade scoped tactical cross bow and arrow.

The Black Panther attached one end of the rope to the arrow and aimed carefully at the rafter, he couldn't afford to miss. It flew at great speed. He heard the twanging sound as it hit solid hardwood. He tugged at the rope and looped the other end to the tree trunk. He made sure there was no slack in the rope before he ventured to monkey crossed the length of it using both hands and feet. The dogs quietly gathered underneath him, waiting for him to lose his grip. They were hungry, they haven't been fed since their master was hospitalised and then incarcerated.

He entered through the roof by removing the tiles. He turned on his mini Maglite and looked for the roof access. It was easy enough. He jumped down in the laundry room, he flicked a switched hoping there was power - the light bulb came on.

"I'll be damned."

Inside, it was modern. All the furniture was grand and new. The kitchen was stylish and well stocked. The bedroom comfortably furnished. In a way, he couldn't help but be impressed with Exxon's brilliant criminal mind. He hid his ill-gotten wealth by camouflage.

He went to the office, it was well resourced. A fax machine, photocopier, computer, scanner. It wouldn't be out of place in a modern office high-rise. He checked every nook and cranny and found a floor safe. He tried several combinations of numbers. Birthday, anniversary dates, Exxon's military serial number. The last one worked. He breathe a sigh of relief when the mechanical lock clicked, he opened it and found bundles of different currencies; American, Australian and New Zealand dollars; then there's British sterling, German deutschmark, French Franc and Canadian dollars.

He searched for a bag and took as much money as he could carry with him. He left the same way he got in. Next time he came back, he'd be entering through the main door. He'd call the dog pound first thing tomorrow to report a case of animal cruelty.

Sam drove three hours non-stop to Annie's home, it was pitch dark when he arrived. Supremely quiet were it not for the hooting of night owls. He softly padded to the front door and left a bag of money on the door step.

Annie was in bed, next to her was the sleeping form of her young hero. She thought she saw a shadow. "Who's there?" she called out. Sam heard. He stealthily walked away and drove off, the sound of the car engine in the silence of the night travelled to Annie's ears. She was frozen in fear. She got up, took a gun out from under the bed and called out, "Who's there?"

There was nothing but the hooting of night owls, she opened the door and found a bag outside. She gradually opened it and saw more money than she could ever hope for or imagine. She brought it inside. A note was left on top of the wads of money, **Facta non Verba**. She translated it with her lips, "Deeds, not words."

Someone was looking after them. She glanced up to Jake's photograph, the green eyes that faded to a sea of grey looked back at her with a knowing smile. "I love you," she said. "I miss you."


	14. A Rare Breed

_Author's Note: Those who are familiar with my writing style know that I incorporate everyday moments in my story. This chapter is about that._

**A Rare Breed**

Annie gave birth to a baby girl she named Jasmine Jake Drury. The labour was nine hours long and excruciating to put it plainly, but it was worth it in the end. The bubby was pink and beautiful; unlike some babies who were born looking like wizened old wrinkled little people, she was born with the most amazing smooth complexion.

Holding Jasmine in her arms was bittersweet but she made a decision to savour the wonder of it than wallow in the pain. Her sister was there to lent support and her in-laws were present to spoil little Jonathan. Many family members and friends came to give their best wishes causing much chaos and exhausting the new Mom.

Sam sent word to the hospital that he and Jules would defer their visit when she gets home, much to her relief.

A month later, Sam and Jules came to visit, taking with them offering of tiny baby dresses and three pairs of cute little ugg booties of varying sizes their Aussie friend Billy found online. She told them that "ugg" was short for "ugly." They still weren't sure if this was Billy educating them about Australiana or if this was Billy pulling their legs.

Jules and Annie bonded well and this delighted Sam for very selfish reason. He wasn't the best in small talk; and at times he felt it was too complicated, Jules on the other hand excelled in it. He was never entirely sure what was safe to ask and when but Jonathan was another story. He was a hoot to be with so Sam took every opportunity to muck around with the little man.

Jake and Annie bought the small cottage on the fringe of town because of its location. It backed onto a park reserve and had few neighbours. They wanted to give their kids the opportunity to climbed trees, hiked in bushlands, swim in creeks and learn to live with Mother Earth.

Sam and Jonathan explored the woods while the ladies chatted over tea and biscuits. "How long have you two been together?" Annie asked.

Jules smiled and said, "Well, we dated, then stopped, then dated again. So I suppose to answer your question honestly, I have to add up the months. But I'd say two years… maybe three." They laughed at Jules' numerical confusion.

"He's a good guy if you need a second opinion." Annie looked introspective for a moment, "But it wouldn't mean he'd be easy to live with.

"Jake certainly wasn't. It was complicated… difficult living with him. He'd be away for six, eight months and when he returned he wasn't entirely home. I mean physically he was home… but his mind would be miles away." She smiled at Jules, "And the phone, it never stopped ringing."

Annie looked out the window and noticed what a bright, beautiful day it was, "Let's go for a walk." She got up and strapped baby Jasmine in a kangaroo pouch. Although it was a lovely sunny day, she carried a thick shawl and draped it around her shoulders. The weather around this part could turn cold and windy at a moment's notice. Jules did the same, draping her sweater on her arm.

They walked down the back of the property where the lay of the land undulated. It was the middle of summer. The ground bloomed with wild flowers and green grass. They saw a lone horse on agistment in the neighbouring property. It was an idyllic place to raise a young family.

They continued walking until they reached a rise, from there they would see out to the horizon, "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Annie said reflectively.

Jules replied, "Yes, it is."

The new Mom exhaled softly, "Jake and Sam, they're a rare breed of men. It's a well-kept secret there are only around 350 serving JTF2 commandos at the moment. Not a lot of them but there's a huge load on their shoulders."

"Did he consider leaving SF when Jonathan was born?" Jules asked.

Annie thought for a moment, "No. It never came up. There were days back then I was angry with him. I was, after Jonathan was born, desperate for him to put us first but I knew it was a decision he had to come to on his own or he'd hate me for making him leave. I was no martyr, Jules. I nagged, I kicked and screamed, I begged but in the end, I knew what I was in for. I knew what I was getting into when I married him. I was a Nurse at the Veteran's Hospital."

She faced Jules, "You know what kept me going when the going got tough? It was knowing he was willing to die for us. I may not know most things that swirled in his mind, I may not have known what nightmares plagued him or what other dreams he lived for…. But I knew without a doubt he'd die for us."

They started to walk back when Jasmine fussed, "She's hungry… we better go." They walked back to the sound of their own laughter. Talking was good for the soul.

They reached the cottage to find Sam and Jonathan lying on their backs, staring up at the deep blue sky, they heard footsteps. Jonathan turned to his side, "Mom, I'm hungry. Can we have pancakes, please?"

Annie looked at her first born, "I've got to feed Jasmine first, if you can wait I'd be happy to make pancakes. If not, you can have some biscuits." Jonathan made a face. Jules offered, "I make a mean pancake," she looked to Annie for permission to invade her kitchen.

"Of course," she said, "Help yourself."

Annie settled herself comfortably in the veranda to breast-feed. Glad she could share this very intimate moment with her daughter. She came in just in time to partake with the nicely done pancake, "Umm, that's really delicious."

She looked at Sam and Jules and thought the couple looked good together. Then she remembered something she's been meaning to ask.

"Sam" she said. He looked up from his plate. "The jungle telegraph has been abuzz with news that money's been mysteriously appearing in injured veterans' mailboxes and front door. Widows are getting them, too. Do you know anything about that?"

Sam shrugged, his face a picture of ignorance, "Nope, it's the first time I've heard of that," he jokingly added, "Wish he'd give me some. I could use a new watch."

Annie smiled and said, "If you say so."

Sam had been helping himself to Exxon's stash, after he reached $800,000 he stopped adding it up. With every free time he had, he delivered packets of money. The only way he could do it was in cash and in secret. Anti-laundering law meant that he couldn't deposit large sums into people's account without the Treasury department wanting to know where it came from and if it came to light that the money was obtained illegally dear old Government would sequester it. He wasn't going to let that happen.

It was getting dark, Sam and Jules said they better be going. Annie walked them to their car, before he could get in the driver's seat the widow asked him, "It's true, isn't it, that SF guys have a hiding place? Do you know where Jake's is?"

Sam didn't have to pretend this time, he really didn't know. He shook his head and said so. "You know what," he said, "Wherever that hiding place maybe, I'm sure he intended to take you all with him, if it came to that. And, I also have a sense that wherever it might be, it's close by. It's around here."

He gave her acomforting hug and determined that one day he'd find out where it is._ 'It's gotta be here somewhere.'_

Not long after that excursion to the young family's cottage, life returned to normal. One day after shift, Team One gathered at Sam's new place. He pulled up stump and resettled to a new rented place not far from Jules.

There was plenty to eat and drink and plenty of ribbing to go around, it was all honky dory until Win said there was something that's been bothering her for a long time and now was the time to get it answered.

She asked Spike about the James Bond suit. The techie regaled them with the story complete with specific details. Win raised an eyebrow and asked, "What would you have done if the owner came back?"

They all noticed how Spike move slowly away from Winnie, he said, "Honestly?"

She crossed her arms and said, "Yeah, honestly."

He smiled, scratched the back of his head and admitted sheepishly, "Honestly, my brain didn't think that far."

Win snatched an orange from the fruit basket and bowled it at him, "You idiot!" His reflex was quick enough to catch the flying missile. Spike looked at Sam, "Hello, a little help here."

Sam shook his pretty blonde head and said, "Sorry buddy, you're on your own."


	15. Dawn after Dusk

_Author's Note: Hawk first appeared in the story "Three Men, Little Alvin and a Tonka Truck."_

**Dawn after Dusk**

Samuel Braddock was consumed by work, Santa duties and attending as key witness to the murder of Lt Jake Drury.

The other matter of illegally diverting aids and guns to unsavoury people seemed to have been buried deep down in the system's anal canal. It never ceased to amaze him how people in Government could turn a blind eye on corruption when it suited them.

It was known that Sam had threatened to terminate Exxon if he was set free. Even without the warning, Oily knew he'd be dead and buried the minute he set foot outside the stockade. Fact was Braddock was the least of his concern. He had made many enemies with more reason to see him dead than Blondie.

Exxon determined to bide his time. He just had to stay alive, serve his time, and then live an abundant life ever after. He had learned from unofficial sources that someone has been giving away money; he guessed it was his retirement fund being distributed around. William Exxon took it in his stride, he had more stashed away and he was confident no one would ever find it.

Everyday since his arrest he rested on his cot and counted his blessings. In jail, he was a guest of Her Majesty enjoying free board and lodging, and free medical care. Best of all, he wasn't expected to do anything to earn it. 'All these while my money made more money in interest.'

But he failed to count on a very resourceful avenger. He would be poisoned six months later. Suspicions initially fell on Sam Braddock who gamely told anyone who asked he was glad the Oil Spill was gone but that he had nothing to do with his demise. With Exxon dead, the hearing was now moot and academic. Everyone involved got on with their lives.

He was walking down the streets of Toronto when he saw a Jeep similar to his own. He wondered if it was worth to collect it from long-term parking, 'perhaps it's already been impounded'. How long has it been? Three months? 'Only one way to find out.' He could have called to inquire about his Jeep but what was the fun in that? So he boarded the train to the international airport. His Jeep was where he left it. Dusty but trusty. As he approached the toll booth he realised just how much this vehicle had became a part of him, 'What the heck I'd pay whatever it came to.'

He drove off the car park, his wallet lighter but his spirit soaring. In three days, it was their rostered day-off again, it would be a good time to take Jules away for a week-end in the mountains.

"Jules," he said as he caught up with her in the SRU gym, "Let's go up the mountains on Friday. Let's go camping." He said jovially, seemingly without a care in the world. His happiness was infectious. Jules found herself agreeing to the invitation even though she had already paid to go to a concert that day.

Friday came. They left early to avoid traffic congestion. "Where are we going?" she asked casually.

He replied, "Wherever…"

"Are you serious? You made no arrangements?" she asked flabbergasted, "Should I regret this now?"

He looked at her and said, "Trust me. Everything we need is in the back." He smiled wickedly, adding, "And we got each other, what more do you want?"

And, he was right. He thought of everything. Sleeping bags for bed. A tent for a canopy. Tin can for cooking. Kerosene lamp for light. Bottled drinking water.

Night came and the cold wind blew biting into their bones. Sam started a fire and they cooked their basic meal. They shared half a bottle of red and toasted the love they share. Her contribution was music, with a guitar Jules could make the world sing with her.

The time came to get their heads down inside the sleeping bag. The blackened sky was dotted with stars. Suddenly, Sam entered a zone. A place of melancholy. His mind switched off from the present and visited a time and a space in the distant past, some six years ago.

Their unit was on patrol when they were engaged by enemy fire. Nine of them scattered in different direction evading bullets and missiles. The engagement went on for five hours. He didn't know where everyone was but he found Lt Drury in the same wadi he was in. Dusk descending quickly in Kandahar. They were down to one small firearm each. "I've got 15 rounds left," the Lieutenant said,

He turned to his officer and said, "So do I. whatever happens buddy, I want you to know it's been an honour serving with you."

Lt Drury said, "Make it count and count it. Save one for me."

He replied, "And you, me."

They made a pact not to be lifted. They would each leave one bullet and shoot each other in the head. They clasped arm and bumped shoulder to shoulder. "See you in hell." They were saved by the bravery and flying skills of Hawk, a former Parachute Regiment and legendary Apache helicopter pilot and so they all lived to tell the tale.

Sam was completely lost in the past. Jules nudged him, "A penny for your thought." It didn't surprise her when he said, "Nothing."

She sighed. She would have to accept there would be parts of him she wouldn't know; places she wouldn't be invited.

They fell asleep eventually. In the wee hours of the morning, the engine of a lone car backfired from a great distance. The sound travelled to Sam's ears and before she knew it Sam was on top of her.

"Sam," she said.

"Ssh."

"Sam, it's ok, it's just an engine backfiring. It's ok," she soothed him by stroking his head, "It's ok."

He got off her and apologised, "No need," she said. He rested again on his back as he tried to calm his nerves.

Annie's words returned to her, "What kept me going was knowing he'd die for us." And now, she knew he'd die for her. She looked at the sky and noticed dawn was breaking.


	16. Closure

_Author's Note: The story felt incomplete so here's what you were all waiting for – _

**Closure**

Life went back to normal for Sam Braddock, whatever normal was for someone who had been to hell and back. He refused to give in to paranoia but rather held on to a firm fatalistic belief that when it's his time, it's his time. The former SF moved home but didn't make any effort to double-lock his doors or grill his windows. He would love and live life freely as a free man in as much as he fought for this freedom for himself and others.

Annie, little Jonathan and baby Jasmine was never far away from his mind. One day he decided there was one more thing he'd like to give them, a closure of some sort. `_That would be priceless.'_

The Lieutenant Jake Drury he knew loved his family. He couldn't imagine that the Officer could ever contemplate life without his beloved wife and child even in the slightest. He had known of former SF who prepared a life without anyone, they'd go to ground at short notice and never be heard from again; living life as a ghost. Not Jake, this he was sure of.

On a rare day-off, Sam travelled to the country to visit the Drury family. _'His hidey hole… its there somewhere. He'd be hiding in plain sight until threats are neutralised.'_

He needed to get inside Jake's head. The young Lieutenant was formerly of the Engineers Corp of the Force before joining JTF2. He had a sharp mind, with a degree in structural engineering. Sam thought that if Jake had a hidey hole, he would have constructed it himself. He wouldn't buy an old home, or store secrets in sewers like some of their comrades or behind secret wall panels like himself. Jake had cyberclouds to store some of his secrets but there had to be a physical place where he could start over again with his family if he had to.

Sam arrived at the Drury country home. He knew no one would be home; Annie would have taken Jonathan to school and would probably go out for coffee with baby Jasmine in town after dropping off the boy. That was fine by him - he needed to be alone with his thoughts, alone with Jake's thought. "Come on, buddy, help me out here," he said encouraging his friend's ghost.

It was a beautiful day. The first day of the Fall. The grass was starting to turn slightly brown, and trees slowly shedding its leaves. The air was crisp and cool. He looked up to find beautifully patterned cumulous cloud, the sky was in the mood to cast its glory all around.

He entered the gated premises and walked the ground. It was spacious with at least two acre of land. Just off the back of the house, sort of out of the way hidden behind a secret garden was a man-made hill. '_The soil to make that hill_, _where_ _could_ _it_ have_ come_ _from'_, he wondered.

He kept strolling around. Sam observed that Jake had created, with what limited time he spent at home, a garden within a garden. It was unfinished. Jake started with the smaller scale secret garden, leaving the bigger wider space for later as a retirement project of sort.

Behind the hill that was now covered with grass that was starting to go brown was a shed. Or at least what passed for a shed. Sam opened the double door secured only by a chain looped around it through holes. Jake didn't bother to lock it, Sam thought he knew why. He needed to be able to enter it quickly.

He drew a deep breath, wondered if he wasn't overstepping the mark. It felt almost sacrilegious but it had to be done. The doors creaked open, the hinges screamed with the rust that had built up. Sunlight streamed into the tiny shed, the first thing Sam noticed was there was no floor. It was an open pit where a shed stood sentinel.

He turned on his mini maglite before peering in. There were wooden steps that led to the lower level. The actual floor was 12 feet below. Anyone not looking could surely have fallen to their injury.

Sam estimated the space to be about 9'0x10' or 3.04m x 2.74m. There was a handmade wooden bunk bed, larger below and smaller on top. He smiled at the furniture made lovingly with recycled wood taken from the bushland behind them. His flashed his light around, there were family photos taken of his wife and son.

A metal box was stashed under the bed, he pulled it out. He knew what was inside but he was curious to find out what was in his buddy's arsenal. He wasn't disappointed, there were a couple of high-powered weapons, five different handguns, explosives, flash bangs, grenades, ammunitions, batteries, satellite phone (one that they reported lost). He closed it and pushed it all the way back to prevent Jonathan accidentally accessing it.

There was another metal box, he opened it and found Jake's cash stash of different currencies. Not more than what any operative would have left over from operations, certainly not as much as Exxon's stash. Considering Oily was out of JTF a couple of years ahead of Jake, it was something of a horde.

There was a teddy bear for Jonathan to hold, something to give him comfort in the event the unthinkable happened. He took the teddy and gave it a gentle squeeze, he thought if could be half the father Jake was, he'd be right.

He didn't know just how long he'd been sticky-beaking inside Jake's hidey hole. But his stomach told him it had been at least an hour. He climbed up, closed the doors and looped the chain again. He paused and said aloud to no one in particular, "Lieutenant Drury, I salute you."

He was walking back when he saw Annie unloading bags of groceries with baby Jasmine in the crook of one arm, "Here let me help you," he said.

She turned around and gave him a delighted smile. "What are you doing here? Did I forget you were coming?"

After a warm hug and kissing Jasmine on her chubby cheek, Sam replied, "It's my day off so I thought I'd visit. Go in, I'll bring the rest inside." Annie obliged. She settled the baby in a rocker and went to the kitchen to boil water, "How do you like your tea or would you prefer coffee?"

"Black tea" came the reply.

Sam entered with five bags of groceries, placed them on the kitchen floor and went out again to bring in a box of fresh fruit and vegetables. "Where do you want this?" he asked.

"Just there on the bench, thank you."

Annie set out a plate of home-baked butter cookies, two mugs of warm tea and placed them on a tray. She took this out to the veranda, "Let's talk outside. It's such a nice day." She returned inside and collected the baby and placed her gently in front of her.

Annie started the conversation, "Tell me, how have you been?" He observed that she was slimmer than the last time he saw her. Looking after two kids by herself can't be easy, he thought. He also noticed that her long hair was gone, replaced by a pixie look. He remembered a cousin who did the same thing a few months after giving birth, "The baby keeps pulling my hair and it hurts," she said.

They talked about the SRU and of course, Jules. She was a natural conversationalist, easy to talk to and she listened attentively. It's no wonder Jake was deeply in love with the woman he married.

When Jasmine started to fuzz, Annie used her foot to bounce her in her rocker, before long she was sound asleep. "That's parenting for you. You use your hands and feet and mouth all the time."

"Ideal Commando training," he said. A few seconds elapsed before Sam asked, "Do you remember asking me if I knew where Jake's hidey hole was?"

Annie looked at him unblinking, her heart skipped a bit. "You found it?"

Sam nodded slowly, "It was here all along."

"Where?"

"In the back of your house."

"In the back of our house?" She put a hand on her lips, closed her eyes and blurted out, "The hill?"

"Not exactly…. Would you like to see it?" She nodded and picked up the sleeping baby in her arms.

They entered between two rows of trees he planted during one of his furloughs, it was where the main garden would have stopped and the secret garden behind it would begin. Then there was the man-made hill.

"I watched this hill grow everyday but I didn't ask where the soil was coming from."

They walked up the small hill and down the other side to reach the shed. "Oh," she said. The sound of excitement escaped from her lips Sam unlooped the chain, opened the creaky doors and said, "Be careful. Give me the baby. It's a steep step all the way down."

Annie looked down, it was only then she realised there was no floor. Sam turned on the mini maglite to light her way and followed with the baby in his arms. He stood to one side to let Annie explore the secret sanctuary Jake created for her and their family. She picked up the framed photograph of them as a family and cried silently. She found the cache of cash and the teddy bear. Now she knew beyond any doubt that Jake would never have had a life without her.

"Thank you," she said. "It's the closure I needed."

Sam smiled, "There's something else you need to know. Jake has a cache of weapons and ammunitions under the bed."

She exhaled, "Would you take it away please?"

"Sure, no problem. It's heavy. Jonathan couldn't get into the cache even if he stumbled upon it accidentally. I'd return with help to get them off your hands."

They went up again so Jasmine could be deposited in her mother's loving arms. Finally, the time came to say goodbye. He drove off in his Jeep with lightness in his being.

Annie waved him off and…. some of her sorrows…. _adios_.

- The End -


End file.
